Unfortunate
by TheAllPowerfulOz
Summary: Live Journal Kink Meme Fill #2. Mature themes, Contains Yaoi! Not for everyone, warnings inside.
1. Part 1

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_AUTHOR'S NOTE;_

_I found this prompt the other day, and it really struck a chord with me. My roommate is intersexual, and for some reason she agreed to answer my obviously embarrassing questions so I could make this as accurate a portrayal as possible. If you have a problem with this, I ask that you be mature and simply close this window now._

_Thank you._

_...  
_

Also... TheAllPowerfulOz is not Ubisoft, therefore, TheAllPowerfulOz does not and will never own the Assassin's Creed universe or the characters therein.

Although, I do like to do weird things to it when nobody is looking...

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_Zola = Little Ball of Clay_

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**Unfortunate**

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Ezio was half asleep when there was a knock at the door. At first he ignored it, but when it came again he sighed and rolled into a sitting position, scrubbing a hand over his face.

There were only two reasons someone would be knocking on his door at this hour; One, a 'customer' was getting a bit too rowdy, or Two there were guards on their way up the stairs… And since he didn't hear heavy loud footsteps or screams and frantic shouting, he could overrule both of those reasons in one fell swoop.

It took him a few moments of fumbling in the dark, cursing the rain outside for blocking out the moon, before he was able to light the lamp by his bedside.

The knocking grew slightly louder, though still quiet enough to give the pretense of unobtrusiveness. Though, at the moment, he found that idea laughable.

"Signore Auditore, are you there?"

He cursed under his breath, not immediately recognizing the voice, and scooped up a knife from the table, just in case. He shuffled to the door yawning and pulled back the lock, cracking it open and blinking out with sleep hazed eyes.

The hallway was darker than normal, indicating that the rooms at this end were unoccupied, most likely because of the rain, and the girl standing there was looking up at him with large brown eyes. "May I come in?"

He sighed, a brittle angry sound and scrubbed his face. For the past week Teodora had been pressing him. Pulling him aside to try and help him 'sort through his feelings'. Saying that she had noticed how tense he'd been of late, how snippy he'd become and short tempered with some of the girls who tended to have a cycle of rather violent customers coming through their rooms every evening.

Ezio denied it all of course, and even more vehemently denied it when she had narrowed her eyes and said with an air of tragic nonchalance _'The only time you seem to be at ease is when Leonardo is around'._

"I'm not interested," And he'd started to shut the door, but a surprisingly firm little hand caught it before it could shut.

"Then I must apologize, but—" She forced herself into the room. "She insisted… And you know how insistent she can be when her mind is set."

Ezio rolled his eyes and shuffled back to the bed, letting his knife clatter back onto the side table as he sat the lamp down and collapsed back across the mattress on his face. "I have not slept well in a week… So I beg your forgiveness, but I'm truly not interested tonight."

Her weight climbed across the bed to drop beside him and he turned his face far enough that one eye peeked out over his arm at her where she was lying on her back looking at him.

Her hair was of a light, earthy brown color, rather unremarkable in the way it curled slightly, cut to lay just even with her shoulders. Surprisingly tall for one of Teodora's girls, just half a head shorter than Ezio himself, thin and willow like with a short rounded nose and thin lips.

Ezio found his head lifting, palm pressing into his temple as he let his eyes rove over her.

She wore no shift under her blouse, and the lacing on the front was loose, untied and gaping just enough that he could see the curve of small breasts and the indents of her collar bones.

Her face and skin were pale, and dotted lightly with little freckles, and he could just make out fading marks on her shoulder from love bites, the only blemishes he could see a scar running through the center of her bottom lip, as if at one point a patron had become displeased and decided to rough her up.

The closer he looked, the more he noticed faded marks like this, another in her right eyebrow, and yet another at her hairline.

He wondered who could ever want to hurt a girl who, despite her profession, still looked so young and innocent.

She gazed at him seriously, unblinkingly, with her unnervingly dark eyes, and when he shifted, curiously hooking a finger in one of the loose laces of her blouse she didn't even flinch.

He sighed, defeated, and shifted closer to her, mumbling to himself, "Didn't expect to get much sleep anyway…"

She smiled and lifted a hand to trace along his eyebrows, giggling in her throat when he closed each eye as her finger made its path.

"Are you new? I don't think I've seen you around before."

She shook her head. "I deal with… With special clients." She smiled, but it was rather transparent. "I'm not beautiful like the others, you see, so I don't come out often…" She petted his face, her gaze heating when his lips parted and he drew a fingertip into his mouth. "But I have my charm…"

Slowly, he plucked at the laces on the front of her blouse, letting the pale fabric fall open, "How old are you?"

She shifted, setting up to shrug out of her shirt; "Old enough." Her thin arms wound around his neck, lips cool and soft against his, so strange feeling with that bit of scar tissue. She untied his hair, running her fingers through it, and dragging the length of ribbon over his shoulder and across his throat.

"May I ask your name?"

She smiled, and it seemed somehow sad; "You may call me Zola… Or whatever you desire if you should forget it."

He nodded, letting his hands wander to her back, feeling thin lines, like the scars left by a thin switch in a zealous hand. He paused, shifting away from her, his mind whirring. "She doesn't think I'll be violent, does she? Is that the kind of people you deal with? What were their names?"

Zola giggled, a somehow pleased and amused sound. "Are you so protective that you would chase out every man that has ever raised a hand to me?" She pinched his cheek playfully. "You flatter me." Her lips pressed against his in an almost chaste manner.

He sighed, and when she tugged at his shirt he helped her pull it off, allowing her a few minutes to fuss over the bruises and half healed wounds on his torso. She pressed him back, her skirts swishing as she moved, pressing kisses over each abrasion, lifting his hand and forming his palm against her breast, moaning softly in approval as his thumb circled a nipple.

Her fingers were cool, almost chilled, as if she'd come to him from outside in the cold autumn air, drawing swirling patterns down his body and plucking at the laces of his trousers, palms ghosting over his thighs.

"Do all your p-patrons allow you such freedom?"

She looked up from beneath thick lashes, tongue flicking out to dip into his navel, and grinned.

He chuckled, Letting his head rest back against the pillows as he watched her, a hand lifting to comb through her hair, smiling at how soft the curls felt as they twisted around his fingers. He hated to admit it, but her attention was easing some of the tension in his body. Though his mind drifted, and his eyes slid closed, brows crinkling as he fought his mind, trying to shove away the thoughts that had plagued him for the better part of six months in growing intensity.

Zola's fingers were long, slender, yet deceptively strong, calloused only slightly, just enough to add a delicious sense of friction as they dragged back and forth over his body.

Artist's fingers…

He grunted, forcing his eyes open to watch, to see and hopefully push out—

"Are you alright?" She lifted her head, kissing gently along the curve of his hip and low over his belly, so close…

He made an impatient whining sound and worked his feet back and forth, feeling trapped with his pants around his knees like that. "Come up here…" It sounded uncertain even to his own ears, and she smiled knowingly, crawling up to lay at his side, her fingers sliding down to curl around his shaft, pulling slowly, lazily while he gently cupped her cheek, kissing deeply, tongues sliding against teeth, the texture and pace slightly awkward at first, but quickly smoothing as his hand slid down to knead her breasts, the other pulling at the closures of her skirts.

Her hand ceased its stroking the moment his fingers slipped past her waistband, and instead of helping him, Ezio found his wrist trapped in her grip, and his fingers covering a firmness he had not expected beneath all the fabric.

For half a second he kept kissing her, seemingly oblivious as to what he'd discovered, but then his eyes flew open and with a quiet little whine he tried to draw back in a panic, but her grip was bruising, and her voice was hissing in his ear.

"It's alright, signore, it is perfectly alri—"

"W-what… What is this," His free hand came up from behind her and was able to pry her hand away from his wrist, momentarily pressing her tight to his chest, and then he was fumbling, his eyes wide face pale.

He fell in an ungraceful heap in the floor with a loud thud, pants still tangled around his knees as he fought, twisting and finally managing to free one leg and scoot away with his back to the door.

He didn't even try to rationalize the fact he was still quite hard, he just sat there, trying to press himself through the door, staring at her unblinking.

Slowly, silently, she slid off the bed and stood before him, fingers pulling at her skirts and letting them fall one by one to pool at her feet, until she stood there amid a cloud of emerald greens and sky blues.

Her body was thin, hips flat and not flared as one would expect of a woman, even one of such small size. Of course, what was nestled between her hips was anything but what a woman would have.

As nauseous as Ezio tried to tell himself he was, he wasn't… He was fascinated, though at the same time, scared out of his wits.

"I-is this a joke?" He stuttered, his face reddening in humiliation.

"No… It's quite a serious problem." Zola stepped out of her skirts and kicked them aside, propping her hands on her thin hips, "So serious in fact, that She insisted I come to deal with you. And I was highly surprised myself, you see. So many of the girls would be heartbroken if they knew I was here." She slid onto the bed, leaning backward and parting her legs, allowing Ezio's gaze to take in everything she had to offer… And everything she didn't. "I cater to a specific class of patrons, Signore Auditore… Those who crave the touch of a man, but fear it in the same moment."

"I-I don't—"

"But you do." Her ankles crossed delicately and she tilted her head to the side. "She described to me the look you get in your eyes when he is near… The sadness, anger, longing… Even the way you flinch when he touches you, yet at the same time, how you lean into that embrace, almost as if you hate yourself for wanting it." She let her hand drift down, touching herself in an almost clinical way. "This is a part of me, the same as these," Her other hand rose to cup her breast. "I am no more a man, nor less a woman because of it… I simply am myself."

Ezio swallowed thickly, still unwilling to move as his eyes stayed glued to hers.

With a sigh, she scooted back farther onto the bed and lay there, left hand up and curled gently like a paw at her face, right beckoning him with a thin, curled finger. "There is no wrong here… Your body knows what it wants, listen to it."

Ezio stared at her for a moment longer, then slowly, as if any sudden movements may cause the flesh lying against her thigh to snap at him like a venomous snake, he pushed himself up the wall, and kicked his pants from his foot, standing there nude, his hair tousled and falling into his wide eyes.

She twitched her finger at him again smiling gently as if his reaction was not a surprise, which he realized, it probably wasn't.

It took almost a full ten minutes of coaxing, of telling him that it was alright and if he was uncomfortable she could face away from him during the act so he did not have to see it. She knew she wasn't beautiful and she didn't want to cause him distress because of this.

His face twisted at that, in soured regret and shame. "You're not ugly… That is not—It's not—" With a sigh he shook his head and stepped forward to sit on the edge of the bed near her knees, feeling stupid for staring but unable to do much else.

Her legs parted again, falling open in a sensual, yet somehow calm and indulgent way, the fingers of her right hand slipping down to open herself. "You can touch if you like, it will not bite… It is a pene, not unlike your own… Flesh and blood."

Yet, at the same moment he knew it was not like his own. Where on an average woman, one would expect to find a clitoris the flesh protruded and grew upward and outward, forming a slightly smaller than average phallus, the outer lips of her sex grown to either side of it. Everything below this point looked as he expected it. Pink and glistening slightly with moisture, and even while his heart thudded in apprehension, he found himself thinking that it was all somehow beautiful.

Her left hand lifted, carding through his hair in an appreciative way, and her voice came out in the barest of whispers, eyes shining; "It's alright…"

Carefully, like a curious virgin, his fingers followed her length, touches feather light, eyes intent as the firm flesh beneath his fingers twitched slightly.

She released a soft sound, a pleased hum and her fingers curled, giving a gentle tug.

Emboldened, his hand slipped beneath, feeling its weight and size in his palm, comparing it to his own, stroking, eyes lifting to focus on her face.

Her brows were lifted, eyes closed lightly, lips parted.

It was strange, and yet awe inspiring, watching the reaction to his ministrations, his fingers tightening fractionally on the upstroke.

She released a noise, a soft wavering little moan, and Ezio felt himself echo it with a gasp, his lips parting, as his sex gave a rather hard throb between his legs.

His mind still chided him that this was strange, and wrong, but he couldn't force himself to care at the moment, he wondered if Leonardo would make such a face of pleasure when stroked, wondered if the blonde artist would mewl and tug at his hair. Wondered what his lips would taste like. And the realization that he was actually thinking such things, actually truly wanting them sent a hard shudder through him and he found himself halting all motion to look up at Zola's face.

Her eyes were open now, smiling at him, her fingers caressing his face with such tenderness he turned his lips into her palm and closed his eyes against the intensity of it.

"Are you going to be OK?" She whispered, still smiling.

After a moment he nodded against her hand and let her guide him up her body, until he was settled between her thighs, pressing in slowly, his brow to her shoulder.

This was familiar, felt the same as any other woman he'd been with… Save the heat of her length against his belly. Is this what it would feel like to lie with a man? This similar, yet this different?

She whimpered and mewled in his ear, fingers curled on the back of his neck for leverage while he rocked. Eyes flowing from her face to the pink head of her arousal between their stomachs. He focused on each hitch of breath, each twitch of muscle, the slide of his body against hers.

It was a familiar dance, passion building slowly but steadily, moans and soft cries gaining volume and frequency as he rotated his hips experimentally, leaning forward to nibble her throat when she arched.

Her inner walls were tight around him, warm and slick, her length a firm constant pressure below his navel, and absently he fumbled with his bedside table, tugging open the drawer and rummaging around until he found the small jar of salve he'd been smearing a wound on his chest with, dipping two fingers in and sliding his hand between them, lifting himself long enough to wrap his hand around her again, a hard jolt going through him when her walls tightened on the contact. His hand jerking in time with his thrusts, mind empty but for the pleasure, empty save the realization that Zola was chanting his name softly under her breath, as if unsure if it was allowed.

The tightening sensation started in his lower back, sliding through under his balls, pulling them close to his body as his thrusts became less coordinated, quick and almost hectic, his breath coming out in high grunts that were almost whimpers as he bowed over her, feeling slender arms pulling him closer, fingers curling to cling tighter. Ezio could feel his arm shaking from the strain of keeping himself up, could feel the muscles in his back, buttocks and thighs burning, sweat rolling down his neck and chest, tendons standing out in his wrist, head dropping forward. His mouth falling open sounds coming unbidden, harsh and almost pained.

Three thrusts more and the walls enclosing him tightened suddenly, the length in his hand erupting, twitching, warmth and wetness bursting in his palm, and Ezio squeezed his eyes closed so tight he saw colors, hips rolling, and tightening, burying himself deep as he released, breath caught in the trap of his throat.

He pumped his hips lazily, body quickly going numb, and his arm finally gave out, spilling him to the side, Zola's left leg trapped beneath him, but she didn't seem to mind.

He was suddenly insufferably hot and unable to move to do anything about it, but lay there panting with his eyes closed and his hair fanned over his face, shoulders and back in sweat moistened tendrils.

A few moments later, Zola wiggled from beneath him and crawled to the edge of the bed, pushing open the window just enough to let a cool, almost cold breeze flutter the curtains, and rain to splatter on the sill and splash onto Ezio's back.

He didn't particularly mind… In fact, it felt rather good to be truthful.

"Signore—"

"E-ezio…" His lips felt numb, but he was able to slur out his own name.

"Ezio… You're staining your sheets… Set up and let me change them quickly."

He didn't know how he managed it, but he was able to move his limbs enough to sit on the edge of the bed, blinking dazedly around watching the slender nude form rushing about in the room, setting the tied bundle of dirty sheets by the door and spreading a new set over the mattress. Watched as she wrung water from a cloth and scrubbed gently but purposefully at his stomach, cleaning away the thin, almost clear splatter of her release. She smiled tenderly when he flinched and tried to stifle a ticklish giggle as she swiped his ribs, and the palm of his hand.

He watched her, almost entranced, as he fell back against the bed, his body feeling somewhat boneless and lethargic after orgasm. Yet, the almost goofy little grin on his face disappeared when he noticed that no matter how he tilted his head, she wouldn't meet his eyes.

His hand snaked up, reverently tracing the ridge of her spine and the hatch marks of scars slicing over her pale shoulders and downward, tapering off above the cleft of her behind.

She flinched visibly, her head lowered.

"I wonder if Leonardo, in his studies, has ever come across someone like you."

Slowly, she tilted her head to look at him. "The man who has your interest?"

He furrowed his brows and said nothing, eyes still focused on the pattern of freckles and scars across her back.

"It would be a waste…" She stood and crouched, scooping her skirts toward herself. "Pretty things should be immortalized with paints and colors. I'm happy where I am."

Somehow he could tell she was lying, but chose not to draw attention to it, and instead hooked his fingers on her wrist, not ready for their time together to end. He felt relaxed, calm in a way he hadn't in weeks, at peace with himself. Flexing his legs and gazing up at her with an open, wanting expression on his face he tried to draw her back into the bed.

She sighed; "If this is how you act, I can see why the girls are so eager for your affections." He looked like a bed tousled kitten, all shining amber eyes, and lightly flushed cheeks. Sleepy affection and intent gazes. "They shall be disappointed when they learn of this… How unfortunate." She smiled in a way that said she was anything but sorry.

And with a groan; "You're incorrigible…" She slid into the bed at his side, allowing herself to be drawn into his embrace, his cheek against her own, arms around her, deceptively gentle fingers drawing curls and spirals on her back and hips. "The Great Assassino… A cuddler." She combed his hair from his face. "I wonder if your artist friend will be as indulgent."

"What makes you think he and I are anything but friends?"

Zola rolled her eyes; "I know love. You two are so deeply enamored with one another it is painful to look at sometimes… Leonardo is just better at hiding it than you are."

Ezio was silent his face hidden, eyes lowered. "We are just friends."

Zola laughed, a light airy sound, and she swatted his shoulder; "Are you truly that naive?"

When he didn't answer she sighed and pressed a hand to his heart; "Forget what is said, forget about everything you think and listen to what your heart knows… The heart is a terribly wise thing. If more people paid attention to it I think the world would be a better place."

He was quiet for a long while, and slowly, his arms tightened, around her, a shudder running through him as he no doubt realized what those strange urges actually meant. "I dared not hope actually… I-I'm afraid he will laugh at me… Or worse yet, only agree because he is too kind to deny me."

She ran her fingers through his hair again, so she could see his face; "He is not a woman, and he may be a good liar, but he is also a sincere person, lying to you would destroy him inside."

Ezio lifted his head and blinked at her; "Do you know him so intimately?"

"Anyone stupid enough to find themselves the object of your affection must be the most genuinely good person in all of Italia." She pinched his nose between forefinger and thumb; "You may be lax when choosing bedmates, but your heart is something dear, and not likely to find itself in another's hand without good reason."

He touched his nose and glanced away, heat rising to his cheeks. "Most likely they've carved it from my chest."

She giggled into her hand; "You're so dramatic."

He lowered his gaze again, blushing, and followed his fingers as they traced from her elbow to the top of her thigh, gazing curiously between their bodies.

"Ezio?"

He hummed.

"How do you see yourself with him?"

He shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth to deny it.

"I do what I do, Ezio, to either slake a man's curiosity, or help him embrace his true desires without the fear of retribution or guilt… If this is more than a passing whim on your part, you should be prepared for things that occur during intimacy between two men. If it is just a fleeting thing, I can help you sate your thirst, without you having to embarrass yourself with another man."

He sighed. She made a valid point. And as embarrassing as it was to speak aloud, this was her job, as unsavory an occupation as it may seem to others.

"If you are caught in the act, or even suspected, Leonardo could loose not only his standing in society, which has only just started to climb again after last time, but he could also be killed. Secrecy, which you know well, is your best and probably only ally in this." Her hands had slid lower, fingers curling over his sex and petting it lightly, making him squirm because he was still sensitive.

"What are you doing now?"

Her expression said, quite clearly, that she thought that was obvious. "Usually, I'm bade to leave after one time…" She glanced up then, her eyes hungry; "Unless I am desired in a… Different way."

He blinked and rolled onto his back looking up at her, rubbing his eyes sleepily; "Subtlety is wasted on me in moments like this, bella—"

Without warning she swatted him on the side of the head. "Don't call me that… Keep your pretty words for those who care to hear them."

He remained silent.

"Since you chose not to answer my question, I am assuming you see yourself bent over one of his work tables."

"Not necessarily…"

She smiled, lifting herself onto her elbows and leaning over him. "But if he asked, you would do it gladly… I can see it in your eyes."

He sighed and looked away into the corner.

With a quiet chuckle she pressed a kiss to his nose; "You are hopelessly smitten, and yet it's oddly sad that you cannot admit you would like to have him ravish you. Feel his fingers on your body…" Her hand slid down his chest, watching as nipples perked beneath her palm, breath quickening. "You dream about it don't you… Dream about walking into his workshop, seeing him… Running your hands through his hair. Does he take you on the floor? Or perhaps on his bed?"

His eyes closed, eyebrows scrunched together, breath hissing from flared nostrils. If it hadn't been for the warmth and firmness pressing against her thigh, Zola might have believed he was unwilling to continue.

"Ezio…" She rolled slowly, bracing herself on her elbows on either side of her head, practically laying on top of him. Her mouth latched to the side of his neck, licking and sucking, teeth scraping just enough to send a hard shudder through him and a choked whine from between his lips.

She rocked herself slowly, listening to the soft wanting sounds he released, watching the play of emotion on his face. Confusion, fear, and such potent longing her chest started to ache from it.

She was prepared to simply rut against him, rubbing their lengths together until they were spent, allowing him time to think what needed to be thought, allowing him to come to terms with the desire, the need. But she was surprised enough to gasp when she felt his thighs shift, felt the muscles in his abdomen tightening as his legs parted just enough to let her settle between them.

"What is it you dream about? Are you imagining his hands on you?" She lowered her head, nipping lightly, not hard enough to mark, but enough to sting and cause him to arch into her touch. "Are you thinking about his body? How it would fit against your own?"

He nodded, the motion stuttered and a whine escaped his throat, hips rocking up against her.

His fingers were flexing where they rested on the pillow by his flushed face. His eyebrows turning slowly upward as the pleasure built.

There was a helpless almost vulnerable quality to him now, with his eyes closed and his body moving hesitantly, as if still too afraid to admit to himself it was real. His voice lost and forgotten while he found the pleasure he'd only before dreamed of.

"Ezio, is this what you want?" Her hand slid between them, the very tip of her finger moving, shifting behind his testicles and gently, like a feather drawn over skin, tracing the tight ring of his entrance.

It was almost as if she'd stabbed him, a shudder ran through his body and he bucked sharply up against her, one hand lifting to clap over his mouth and hold in the groan he almost released. His arousal gave a heavy throb against her own and a bit of moisture leaked from his tip.

She stopped moving all together then, staring down at him grinning while he breathed raggedly hips making gentle thrusting motions below her. "Do you want me to show you what it feels like?"

There was a tense moment where he did not move, but then, slowly, his hand fell to the bed and his eyes opened to slits. There was fear in them, fear of what it would mean, fear of being caught or found out.

He took a shuddering breath and spoke in a whisper; "W-will I bleed?"

"What?"

He wetted his lips and spoke again, his voice somehow even quieter than before. "The f-first time a woman is touched, s-she bleeds, and there is pain… I don't enjoy pain, you see… Nor do I enjoy the idea of bleeding—especially from that, that area."

"If you take your time," She reached over and retrieved the little pot of salve he'd dug from the drawer earlier and sat it on the mattress near by, "And use something like this, or even a fine olive oil, you will not bleed, perhaps a drop or two because you are still new to it, but nothing more unless there is a tear or injury… You feel pain for a reason, Ezio, if it is there, tell him."

The tension seemed to leak out of his body and he eased back into the pillows a little more.

She dipped two fingers into the jar and shifted back onto her knees. His eyes felt like heated points as they traveled from her face to her hand, to the hardened flesh against her belly.

"Unfortunately, there will be a little pain the first few times, until you've learned how to relax yourself and not fight it, preparing your body thoroughly will decrease this though."

His brow wrinkled uncertainly.

"And there are ways to distract from it…" She let one slicked finger circle his entrance again, smiling as she watched the reaction, how the pucker of flesh fluttered, how his length twitched gently, even the hitch of his breath.

She focused on his face, watching his eyes where they were locked with the ceiling, fingers curled into his palms in apprehension, and she eased the first finger into his body.

He didn't flinch, but an awkward expression came over him. He didn't so much as move as she worked the digit within him, widening him up enough to slip in a second. Then he did flinch, his fingers tightening into loose fists. Slowly, she pumped her fingers in and out, smiling when the only name she could think of to explain the look on his face was 'uncomfortable' and perhaps 'embarrassed'. "When you prepare your partner, you want, most usually, to get three or even all four fingers in. Gradually of course, just like you would let your fingers pleasure a woman to make her moist… If this step is skipped, if proper lubrication is skipped, there will be terrible pain and blood, do you understand?"

He nodded his eyebrows drawn down in concentration.

"This… Is one way to distract from the discomfort." She crooked her fingers upward, and watched his reaction.

He gave a little jolt, eyes closing, mouth twisting and his breath hitched.

With a smile, Zola rubbed the pads of her fingers against the spot, back and forth watching as his breath became more labored, and his mouth opened to gasp in breath. She was able to slip in a third finger while she had him distracted, watching as his hips began to roll with the stimulation, quiet whines and gasps leaving him.

His right hand slid down his body, as if of its own volition, and curled around his sex, pumping along with her rhythm.

She watched him for a few breaths, secretly relishing in the vision he created, spread out on his bed, his hair mussed and sticking to sweat dampened skin, brows lifted above fluttering eyes. Mouth opened, lips glistening as his tongue roved over them in an almost lewd fashion. His legs spread wantonly, tendons standing out in his inner thighs, hand working his flushed shaft, testicles heavy and tight, his hole stretched pink and wet with oil around three of her fingers, clenching in time with the flexing of her wrist.

"You're beautiful like this… _Così disposti… così aperta…"_ She hummed hungrily, her free hand dipping into the little jar of salve and slicking her length, gasping and whimpering when her inner walls spasmed eagerly, moisture dripping down the inside portions of her thighs. Her head fell back, eyes closing, remembering the feel of his length nestled deeply inside her.

At that moment she envied Leonardo, but bit her tongue and gave her head a shake, returning her focus to the man below her, calling his name to get his attention.

"Ezio… Ezio, look at me… Si, like that."

His eyes were heavily lidded, dark and burning and she felt a tingle go through her as she forced her thick tongue to cooperate, forced herself to speak; "I am not of average size, as you can tell, so this will not be as uncomfortable as being breached by a man, do you understand? If Leonardo does this, it will—"

"It will hurt."

She nodded, petting his thigh, "He is a gentle person by nature, he will do everything he can to ease it."

He nodded, teeth sinking into his lip when he felt her pull her fingers free, his heart hammering nervously. Is this how it felt for a woman the first time? This terrifying apprehension, the shortness of breath, the numbness and yet hypersensitivity in the skin, the feeling of not quite being awake?

He tried not to watch as Zola gripped herself, guiding the wet, slicked head of her erection to him, tried not to flinch at the alien feel of hot blunt flesh pressing against him, or the terrifying feeling that it just wasn't going to fit and he would tear in two as she pressed her hips inward. There really wasn't any pain, so he didn't know why he thought that, or why his left hand came up, covering his face, didn't know why he released a sob and reached for her, tangling their fingers together in a desperate attempt to ground himself. The first push didn't really feel like much of anything besides uncomfortable, maybe a little sting as she hilted herself and bent forward to whisper encouragingly in his ear.

She made soft shushing noises and pressed kisses to his chest and neck, bracing herself on her elbow by his shoulder. "Ezio? Are you really in pain or are you just afraid?"

He shook his head and after a moment choked out in a whisper; "It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt."

"Then what are you afraid of, caro, what is it?"

"I don't know."

"I think you're lying," She leaned her forehead into his, smiling sadly down at him. "There is nothing wrong with this, despite what everyone says…" She withdrew slowly, rocking herself back into him, pulling whines from his throat with every movement. "Listen to your body, Ezio. Listen to what it is telling you, and forget everything else."

He took a deep breath, relaxed himself into the feeling, and released it in a moan, rolling his hips up against hers, almost overwhelmed by the feeling, by the heat, fullness and warmth, the stretch and pull of her shaft, rubbing with each thrust against that place inside him.

What was so wrong with this? Why was it considered evil, dirty? What did it matter who loved whom, or how you made love?

This didn't feel wrong, at all.

And just like that, he wasn't afraid anymore. The act wasn't terrible, wasn't ugly as he'd always believed. It felt… It felt good, it felt right.

His hand moved slowly away from his face, lifting to clutch at her shoulders, legs shifting to frame her hips, holding her close as she thrust, the sensation of her driving in and out of him maddening, the pressure building, his voice naught but whines and quiet moans—

He wasn't sure how long it lasted but he came suddenly, almost violently, eyes closing so tightly it hurt crying out at the abruptness of it. His body tightened, clenching around her invading length, rolling as orgasm swept through him. His own seed splashing out in sharp jets against his stomach, splattering along the flexing muscles of his abdomen and he felt two more sharp thrusts before Zola shuddered, a small burst of warmth at his insides, not nearly as much as he expected, barely enough to be noticed, and he felt her twitching gently through it, soft mewling noises echoing in the room.

She lay on his chest for a few minutes, how long he didn't know, didn't really care, because his mind seemed to have drifted away from everything letting his body be manipulated by thin hands, his limbs moved about at her will.

Consciousness was fading rapidly, but he had enough strength left in him to crack open an eye and watch her as she made her way around the room, wiping him down, hooking his leg over her arm to press the cloth to his entrance, cooing when he grunted at the contact with tender flesh.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his side, the blankets pulled over him, and Zola was tightening the laces of her blouse, her skirts once again hiding the mystery of her lower half.

It was a strange feeling, the realization of what he'd done and yet not feeling ashamed. Knowing suddenly that the world had been wrong and that what he'd been trying to convince himself was just a skewed sense of friendship between himself and Leonardo was actually something more. That the dreams he'd had, the desires, were normal and no more disgusting than the thoughts he'd had of women as a teen… And remembering how he had flinched and drawn away whenever Leonardo had tried to hug him for a little longer than he had thought was appropriate, or how he had refused his friend when the blonde had asked if he would model for him.

All of the times he left quickly, or shied away from a comforting touch when it seemed that he would never have a moment's peace between running from guards and killing, when it seemed the darkness would eat him alive. All of it had been because he was afraid. Afraid someone would know he wanted it, afraid to admit to himself that he wanted to feel strong hands on his body, wanted to feel and touch and be loved by another man.

Zola's head snapped back toward him when she heard it, startled.

He was trying to hide his face in the pillow, pulling at the blankets with his other hand, attempting to cover his head, but his body was still shaking from the intensity of two releases in as many hours. It was a testament to his willpower that he was even still awake and not sleeping like the dead.

Most men she serviced fell asleep within seconds of their end.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand going to his back through the quilt, rubbing gentle circles. "What is it?"

He shook his head, trying to deny that anything was the matter, but she was insistent, pulling at the blankets and brushing his hair away from his face until he found himself looking up at her.

No words passed between them, words at such a moment would have been useless.

Admitting to oneself that there is love where society says there should not be was difficult. Even more difficult was choosing to pursue and live with such love in spite of what the world said.

She gave him a tender smile, tracing his eyebrows once more, "Do you need anything, before I go?"

He thought for a moment, reaching up to wipe his eyes, and then gave his head a shake. "I think, perhaps saying 'thank you' to a pretty woman would be a bit absurd after something like that… But—"

She chuckled lightly, like music, and pulled the blankets over his head. "Ah, you silly man… What did I say about those lovely words of yours? Save them for Leonardo, I have no need of them! Though, I do believe Sister Teodora will be pleased your problem has resolved itself… She worries over you so."

Ezio pushed the blankets back and watched her as she stood, blew out his lamp and walked to the door, the moonlight making her hair look coal black, eyes the color of midnight.

_"Buona notte, Signore Auditore…"_ She opened the door and disappeared into the hallway without a backward glance.

He lay there for a few moments in the dark, listening to the breeze battering the shutters, and smiled when he realized the rain had stopped.

Two days later when the workshop door opened and Leonardo blinked out at him in surprise, inviting him in with a pleased laugh and a hug, Ezio didn't try to pull away.

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_I apologize to the OP if this isn't what you wanted. But I did have fun writing it._

_Thanks to my roommate for putting up with my badgering and questioning…_

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	2. Part 2

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**Unfortunate; Part 2 **

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Two days later when the workshop door opened and Leonardo blinked out at him in surprise, inviting him in with a pleased laugh and a hug, Ezio didn't try to pull away.

Too bad Leonardo was upset over a commission and couldn't pay proper attention to him, and only offered a quick, impartial embrace that could barely even be qualified as a hug.

Ezio sat patiently and watched him, chin propped on his hand, tilting in his chair sleepily.

There was something dance like in the way Leonardo moved, slow and deliberate, then fast as if time had sped up. Then he would just pause and stand there motionlessly with his brush raised staring with his lips pursed and his head cocked to the side, then a flurry of movement. Making dozens of small, breath thin layers, such minute amounts of color it was hard to tell if he'd done anything more than run a dry brush over the canvas.

Detail, seemed to be his forte. He preached subtlety like a religion, and yet every single painting, or design was so ornate it seemed almost impossible. Ezio thought perhaps the word was 'Maddening'…

When Leonardo finally sighed and put his pallet aside, scrubbing his forehead with the back of his wrist, Ezio was beginning to think he would die from the inactivity.

"Right… Now what is it you needed, my friend?" He turned to the younger man with a worn, but expectant look on his face. Then suddenly he seemed to deflate; "You didn't break something again, did you?"

"Not unless you mean the heart of every girl in Teodora's convent…"

Leonardo cocked an eyebrow upward. "And how have you managed this?"

It felt strange that Leonardo didn't know. As if maybe everyone should, like it was written on his face and at first out of sheer habit he opened his mouth to say something absurd, something outlandish that would make the blonde laugh and turn back to his painting. But what came out was NOT what he was intending.

"I've fallen in love."

Leonardo looked at first shocked and briefly, so very briefly had Ezio not been looking for it this time he wouldn't have seen it, disappointed. Hurt almost, followed by a wide and somehow empty smile. "Congratulations! What is her name, have I met her?" His hands went into the air; "Wine, this calls for wine!" And he dashed off into the kitchen.

Ezio sat there for a few minutes, waiting… But Leonardo didn't come back. Warily, he climbed to his feet and padded softly to the kitchen, peering in, but the artist wasn't there, and the back door was open leading out into a small garden.

When he left the workshop Ezio looked all around, but couldn't find the artist anywhere.

Where had he gone? Had someone stolen him?

He darted across the garden toward the street staring left and right in a panic. He asked a few people if they had seen the blonde, describing his clothes and the fact the man was likely paint stained.

One woman nodded and pointed off down the street toward the market. "He looked in a great hurry, wringing his hands and mumbling to himself."

Ezio had never looked so hard for a person in his life. It seemed almost as if the blonde had vanished completely, like a cat or something. The sun began to sink low on the horizon and the heat of the day began to fade. Clouds started to roll in and he was starting to become very worried that perhaps Leonardo had gone and done something very stupid without waiting to hear the rest of Ezio's sentence.

But, Leonardo had asked who SHE was…

What if he wasn't attracted to him, what if Teodora had been wrong? What if he was wrong himself?

And then, against the orange purple and indigo of the darkening sky, Ezio saw a silhouette perched on the rooftop. He turned his eyes upward, surprised, spying the blonde on the roof of his workshop with a sketch pad, furiously making back and forward lines across pages.

"Leonardo! Where have you been? I looked all o—"

"I'm sorry, my friend, but I'm terribly busy. I have very much to do and such a short time in which to do it, so you'll have to excuse my rudeness, but I think it might be best if you… you'll have to come back another time."

"But I have to explain—"

"Good bye!" He waved spiritedly and turned back to his sketchbook.

Ezio wanted to climb onto the roof and shake him. His fists tightened, and at the same time, so did his chest. What if he was wrong? What if Leonardo didn't want anything to do with him in such a way and he was only making a fool of himself?

Doubt tasted like soured milk and reluctantly, head bowed and shoulders slumped, he left.

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Ezio dropped heavily across his bed, not even bothering to take off his clothes or boots, he shoved his face into the pillow, arms limp and lifeless at his sides and laid there like a slug.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, long enough for his nose to clog, his eyes to go puffy and his cheeks to become reddened and itchy. And by then he was feeling light headed from practically suffocating himself so turned his face for air, and blasted his breath between pursed lips to get his hair out of the way.

His room was dark, and rain pattered loudly on the shutters.

Quite suddenly he hated the rain, and shoved his head under the pillow again to block out the sound of it.

What was the use? What was the purpose of admitting it to himself, of trying to pursue it if Leonardo ran away from him?

It was difficult enough just actively thinking about it, remembering everything he'd experienced those few short days ago, encountering those places of his body every day and not imagining the blonde's hands in place of his own.

He wanted it… And rejection had really never been his forte.

It hurt.

The weight settling on the side of the bed startled him and he almost raised himself up fighting, but a hand settled between his shoulders and he recognized the voice that hummed comfortingly at him.

"This isn't like you… Are you ill?"

He tightened the muscles in his back and shoulders but didn't pull his head from under the pillow.

Teodora frowned; "Does your head pain you?"

"No."

She hummed curiously; "I hear you paid a visit t—"

"He sent me away." His voice cracked and he ground his teeth against the stinging in his throat and sinuses.

"Oh?"

"He wouldn't even listen… Just ran from me and when I found him again he sent me away." He told her what had happened, his voice strained and barely controlled. Twice he had to stop and rub his nose on the pillow case or the sheet or cough and regain his breath. This was the strangest pain he had ever felt. Such loss and grief for something he never had to begin with.

Teodora was quiet for a while, just a comforting weight on the bed at his hip, then with a sigh she pulled at the pillow and tossed it to the foot of the bed, combing his mussed, damp hair from his face and leaning over his back, arms crossed under her chin. "You know how quickly he gets distracted… And you haven't really given him a reason to think you are attracted to him, so no, I don't blame him for acting as he did." She smiled when he peered questioningly at her from the corner of his bloodshot eye. "I want you to go back there and TELL him. If it is truly and honestly what you desire, I don't care if you have to tie him up to make him listen, you do what you must."

His brow drew down further and his voice came out rough, his throat sore; "And if he sends me away again?"

"If he sends you away again then I will offer my most sincere apologies to you… But I truly believe he was just jumping to conclusions."

It was a pleasant thought anyway, that maybe Leonardo had simply assumed… It gave him hope that he hadn't made a fool of himself anyway and after a few seconds scrubbing his face dry he sighed and rolled into a sitting position. Leaning his head on her shoulder in an awkward display of thanks before he limped lamely to the door and left.

The rain was terrible. Heavy, cold and drenching, he pulled his cloak over himself as he went, praying he wasn't too completely soaked, but knowing in his heart by the time he arrived at the Artist's studio he would be.

He felt himself beginning to tremble the closer he got. Remembering those breathless, heart pounding moments of fear and anticipation and hunger as Zola had fitted herself into him. Everything she'd explained, at first he'd tried to ignore it out of embarrassment, but looking back he realized she had been trying to prepare him, just as she'd said.

The canals looked hectic in the rain, splashing and seeming to boil like water in a kettle. An eerie fog hovering over everything only added to the illusion that beneath the city there was a great burning fire. He imagined he could feel it under his feet and he quickened his pace accordingly.

The path slanted steadily upward and the water rolling downward past his feet sloshed over the paving stones, making everything slick and precarious, but he went onward stubbornly. Arms wrapped around his middle, mind blank and determined, thoughts circling on images and desires that barely three days before he would have shoved away hatefully and sought to drown in the arms of a woman.

The workshop looked slightly daunting in the darkness, empty save the warm glow of a fire and lamps near the back of the house.

Ezio imagined the artist back there working diligently on whatever it was he'd ignored until now. He stood there in the street for a while, just staring up at the front doors with his stomach bubbling uncertainly, wanting—needing, and afraid…

What if Leonardo did send him away? What if the blonde laughed at him? W-what if he refused to listen? What if Ezio had been wrong all along?

It was like an acid in his mind, burning away all his confidence and the resolution he'd left Teodora's with…

_Oh, the Hell that is love…_

He had to force himself to step forward, deciding that this must be done quickly because the pain would be easier to bear if it was taken care of quickly… He'd learned that from having arrows yanked from his flesh. If it was done immediately, before you were able to brace yourself for the pain, nine times out of ten it didn't hurt as badly, unlike once your muscles were tense and alert and your consciousness had centralized on the wound.

The doors seemed intimidating, but Ezio was intimidating himself, so he lifted a fist and banged sharply against the wood.

He stepped back politely and waited, teeth chattering. He wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the fact his nerves were on edge, the anticipationeagernessWANT pumping through him like—

The door opened and a shaggy head popped out, scowling, cheeks pink, eyes redrimmed and shot with little red veins.

Leonardo smelled of wine…

Lots of wine.

Ezio blinked at him for a moment and was opening his mouth to speak—

"I am very busy, Ezio… What is it you need?" He drummed his fingers rapidly on the door, eyes distant and expectant… and almost disgusted.

Ezio swallowed and bowed his head, stepping forward close enough that his words could be heard above the rain, but not close enough that he might drip on the artist. "I—I came to speak with y-you… privately."

Leonardo worked his tongue around the backs of his teeth and leaned farther out, peering up and down the street. "I see no one about but rats and wet little birds…"

Ezio flinched, wondering why suddenly he felt seventeen again, awkward and gangly and small in shoes that looked too big. He felt suffocated by all his heavy wet clothing and of all times, so near that he could smell the heat and wine and paint on the older man's skin, his body decided to stiffen and announce its presence and needs, quite rudely.

He swallowed, clearing his throat to alleviate himself of that choking feeling and spoke. If Leonardo accepted the street as privacy, then so be it.

"I _need_, Leonardo, a flat sturdy surface, four of your fingers and a vat of oil…"

In his growing drunkenness Leonard's face scrunched up in confusion and he peered down the length of his nose at the younger man; "What?" He shook his head; "Have you injured yourself again? I'm in no condition to be treating wounds… You can come in and wait, but if it is very serious, I'll have to send for someone." He shoved his hair away from his brow and stepped backward.

Ezio didn't argue… He was being permitted inside, the reason why mattered very little at the moment. He stepped cautiously inside trying to drip on as little floor space as possible.

Leonardo shut and bolted the door then just stood there looking at him with a hand on his hip and one hand in his hair.

And Ezio got a good look at him in the dim firelight.

Leonardo was barefoot, wearing only his pants and his under clothing. He was highly, terribly under dressed… And Ezio could see a wedge of his chest and a dusting of curling dark blonde hair—And his mind began doing strange things… Startling things, and his heart sped up—

"Ezio? Y-you've gone quite pale, are you well? Maybe you should sit down." He let his breath out in a whoosh and motioned toward that straight backed chair Ezio so often fell asleep in. "Where were you injured? Do you require assistance?" He stepped forward and carefully tried to pry open Ezio's cloak. Brushing his hood back and carefully gripping each side of his head, fingers searching over his scalp.

_Maybe,_ Ezio thought distantly, _maybe I was wrong._

Leonardo saw the younger man wince and stopped his probing, holding very still lest he cause the brunette any more pain. "It's your head then? Have you received a blow?"

Ezio shook his head and let his breath out slowly; "Why did you rush out earlier?"

"I-I told you… I had things to do." He tried to lower his hands, but felt wet fingers plucking at the opening of his blouse, heat rose to his face that had nothing to do with the wine.

"You didn't allow me time to explain—"

"What is there to explain?"

He couldn't say it… Feeling it was one thing, wanting it was similar… but saying it was something different entirely.

It was a terribly awkward sort of thing. One moment Ezio had been standing there with his eyes closed, and a wrinkle on his nose that spoke of discomfort, and Leonardo had been gently cradling his head… The next second the assassin's face had tilted upward and quick, like a bird pecking at a piece of bread, their mouths brushed, and the contact was gone, fleeting as an angel's wing. And Ezio's face was turned to the floor again.

Leonardo just stood there for a moment, still as stone… perhaps he had been petrified after all, because when Ezio became wholly unnerved by the stillness and lifted his head again the artist's face was pale as marble and his gaze was stone sober.

"Leo—"

And there was motion. Startlingly fast, like a cat pouncing, and Ezio's head knocked sharply against the door as he was shoved hard against it, apologies forming instantly on his tongue, hands coming up plaintively, so unnatural because they wanted to curl defensively, but something in his heart and mind stopped them. "M-mi dis—"

And he tasted wine. Good, warm spicy wine with a nice oaky flavor and… and as quickly as he realized he could taste wine he realized why, and that the hands on either side of his scalp were gripping feverishly, and a warm, dry body was pressing insistently against his chilled wet one. He trembled at first in shock and wonderment at what was happening, everything in his mind going very still for a breath, and crashing back at double speed the next.

_Don't think, just feel…_

He closed his eyes tightly and lost himself to the thud of his heart and the heat seeping into him through the older man's fingers and solidity and lips.

It frightened him, at first, how intense it felt. How his body seemed to shut down and speed up at intervals, and that without consciously thinking about it he just KNEW what to do. Knew how to tilt his head, how to turn his jaw and lift his chin so the blonde could get to the hidden bit of tender flesh under his collar and latch on like a rat terrier.

The hot throb through his middle seemed to consume him, and before he even knew what was happening, or what he was doing, he had one leg cocked up over Leonardo's right hip, the blonde's hand gripping like a talon at the back of his thigh, and his mouth was moving, words coming unbidden, uncensored, unchallenged by his mind and his social sensibilities.

"I want you… t-take me. Anywhere, the table, the floo—oor—AH!—R-right here a-against the wall, p-please, oh please. I-I need this, Leonardo, please now."

And the blonde disengaged, evolving from his leech like mentality and becoming a man again; "No…" He swallowed thickly, taking a few moments to breath in the sounds of want and outrage of Ezio's denial and smile into him again; "You are no common whore. I will not treat you like one…" He took a deep breath to steady himself, cleared his throat and brushed wet hair from the younger man's flushed face. "You're frozen to the bone, a-and your head."

"My head was fine until you knocked it against the door a moment ago. Please—I can't wait any longer—"

Leonardo chuckled lightly and eased himself away, eyes bright and happy again. "Come with me."

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Ezio hadn't expected this when the blonde had said 'follow me'. His mind had been filled with feverish imaginings, the anticipation of everything the girl at Teodora's had prepared him for. His thoughts racing over the preparation.

"Y-you have to be gentle." He said, teeth chattering as Leonardo had fetched a lamp from the kitchen and handed him a freshly opened bottle of wine from amid the empty ones on his table. "You… you will be very thorough, yes? I d-don't want to be hurt."

Leonardo tipped the bottle toward his lips but was nodding, his expression warm and indulgent as he pushed the younger man toward a chair and went into the wash room, setting the lamp on a table and uncovering the tub.

"S-she said four fingers… All four." He held them up for emphasis; "So I-I w-won't be torn."

He nodded as he filled pots over the fire and pulled a fist full of towels down from the shelf.

Ezio's eyes were distant, alight, but not quite in the present and his whole body was still trembling. "Y-you will be careful with me?"

Leonardo dropped to a knee before him and gripped both chilled hands; "Yes… But you are much too excited at the moment, and you are much too cold. Undress and wrap up in these, then sit close to the fire until the water warms enough."

Ezio remembered bathing as a child. He'd thought the task laborious and disgusting. Sitting bundled in towels and blankets waiting for the water, his mother scrubbing the grime from him. For days afterward he always felt so dry and itchy and sore from the scrubbing. He much preferred just washing from a basin, it was far less humiliating, but Leonardo was rolling up his sleeves, and any excuse to have the man's hands on him, in his giddy mind, was worth it, so he undressed, peeling off his wet clothing into piles on the floor and bundling himself in the towels, sitting on the hearth beside the kettle and watching with keen interest everything the blonde was doing.

"Leonardo?" He curled his chilled toes and squeezed them, trying to coax warmth back into them.

"Hmmm?"

"She said you loved me… Do you?"

"Who?"

"The girl."

He chuckled; "Which girl?"

"The one who he-helped me c-come to terms with this?"

"With what?"

"My needs… Was she right?"

"Ezio…" _I would not put up with your ungrateful attitude, your waking me at all hours to treat some wound or another. I would not tolerate the way you looked at me, and then pounced upon the nearest woman if I did not love you._

But he didn't say that. He just smiled at him indulgently.

Ezio wasn't really paying attention anyway, his mind had gone off again as he'd finished the wine Leonardo had thrust into his hands upon passing through the kitchen. "I was afraid of what it meant… Everyone thinks it is so horrible but it isn't." He wet his little finger between his lips and swirled it around the bottle opening. "I'm so glad that it isn't."

Leonardo nodded again and took the kettle from the flames, emptying it carefully into the tub, and with it another of cold water, so the younger man wasn't burned. He motioned to it but didn't speak, just watched, letting his eyes indulgently take in the assassin's body. He'd seen Ezio nude before but the brunette had been very sick at the time, feverish from a badly treated wound on his thigh. He'd been unconscious for days, responsive only as grunts and soft cries of pain as he was moved and cleaned of filth and his wound treated and rebandaged. As far as Leonardo knew Ezio was still unaware that anyone other than Antonio and Paola had helped care for him during that time, and in all actuality he rather preferred it that way. Ezio didn't need to know that his condition had gotten so bad Paola had sent a man riding all night to fetch the artist. He didn't need to know… But Leonardo's eyes still lingered on that scar, pinked silver on the younger man's skin, fading now as the years passed, but still open and bleeding in the artist's mind.

Ezio tried to modestly cover himself, as he climbed to his feet and stepped into the tub, but that warm, callused palm on the small of his back, just above where he'd wrapped the towel around himself… The intimacy in the touch, the openness in their expressions as their eyes connected…

Ezio let his grip loosen and the towel fluttered away, leaning his chest against the blonde's he made his intentions perfectly clear with a subtle shift of his hips.

It was perfect, beautiful… warm…

So, why then did he end up sitting there in the tub letting Leonardo wash him carefully and press gentle little kisses to his shoulders and hands and face, and even the scarred bruised knobs of his knees?

Why did the blonde carefully, lovingly dry him off and offer warm soft clothes and the softest side of his bed?

Why did this man, this loving man extinguish his lamp and curl under the blankets with him and not once move to ravish his body?

Not a single caress to the tender, wanting flesh between his legs, not a single press of a finger to the core of his want… Nothing?

And why, when Ezio drifted so quickly and peacefully off to sleep did he not care?

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For two days Ezio was almost entirely silent. Sitting on a couch in the studio wrapped in a blanket as if he'd caught some chill or was recovering from illness, when in all actuality he was in complete awe of everything and just waiting. Unsure, uncertain, and a little surprised with himself perhaps.

He watched Leonardo work. How he moved, how he spoke, how he walked and ate and dressed himself in the mornings. Each slow gentle pull of lacings on his trousers or his blouse. How he pulled his fingers through his hair to straighten out the tangles.

Ezio just watched him and for the first time allowed those thoughts to run through his head. Appreciated them at the same time.

He found himself feeling fanciful and light headed with the dizzying implications of everything. The warmth that spooned against his back at night, the warm, tickling kisses on the back of his neck in the mornings. Those two words, whispered so softly into his hair when the artist thought he was asleep.

"Ti amo…"

Leonardo's studio and his apartments became a sanctuary, more sound and holy than any church or temple or sacred ground. Between those four walls, there was no worry. No care…

He slept soundly, deeply, undisturbed with one of the artist's hands curled around his chest, those nimble, thin fingers pressed into his chin as if they were his own.

Ezio felt warm and at home and for the first time in so very very long, happy…

Leonardo thought it was precious, and had to bite his tongue to keep a straight face. Sooner or later Ezio would relax, the newness would be less overwhelming and he would be Ezio again, not an excited horny teen in Ezio's skin.

Leonardo was a very patient man most of the time… at least when it came to certain things he was… most of the time. And he would most certainly and definitely wait until Ezio was himself again before he allowed anything to happen.

Three days later when Ezio was still shuffling around and following him with glazed happy eyes and a tent in his pants, Leonardo decided that perhaps something did have to be done to clear the younger man's head, or else… well, it just couldn't continue on like this without inexcusably bruising the young man's pride by bursting out in laughter.

"Ezio?" He spoke over his shoulder without looking away from his work.

"Yes?"

"Do you have anything you must do? Anything for your uncle, or Antonio or someone else?"

He frowned for the first time in days; "I…" His frown deepened into a scowl. "Why?"

"You've lounged about here for a week now, I'm quite sure your head is not still sore—"

"Not the one on my shoulders, no…"

And there was the old Ezio, good, he was still in there and hadn't been swallowed alive by whatever was going on in his head.

"Is all you want from me that?"

"No. But it's the first on my list… You really have no idea how long I've been struggling with myself over this, and now that I've embraced it you seem to have grown cold."

Leonardo shorted; "Grown cold?"

"You've n-not…"

He did turn then, smiling; "I've not tried to bed you?" He tilted his chin upward and gazed from under his lashes at the other man; "Ezio, have you ever seen me try to bed someone?"

"No, but—"

"Then who are you to say that I have not tried, but your head is too thick to notice?"

He blanched. "H-have you?"

Leonardo chuckled and returned to his painting; "No." Then after a moment; "You're not ready."

"What? Leonardo—Merda… I've offered myself to you innumerable times since I arrived. In fact, the very instant I stepped foot inside I told you all I needed were your fingers and a pot of oil!"

Leonardo chuckled and gave his head a shake. "I shall share something with you, Dearest—Dearest Ezio, and I pray you do not take my meaning wrongly… But there was no finesse to you begging me to take you against any nearby flat surface. There is nothing sexy about a man who desires fast, brutal, animalistic sex anywhere he can get it."

Ezio was trying to glare a hole in the back of his head, he could feel it.

"Your need of me then, and I am almost certain that it remains now, was purely physical, and I refuse to open myself to the danger in this again simply because of your lust… Lust nearly cost me my life once, I will not succumb to it again." He swallowed a lump in his throat; "So, when you are ready—if you are ever ready, I will be here, and waiting for you, as I have been for many years now."

Ezio was quiet for a long while after that, just watching breath thin layers of color go onto the canvas. Then with a heavy sigh, sometime after three that evening, he stood and disappeared upstairs for a while, coming back down dressed in his usual attire, now dried and clean because Leonardo had secretly paid a woman who lived not far away no small sum of money, to wash and mend them. Her tiny, delicate stitches had held more than fabric closed on a few occasions, and the artist was grateful for her and her silence.

Leonardo was sad to see him go, but embraced the younger man tightly and brushed their lips together carefully, hoping to convey his feelings through that. It must have worked, because when Ezio slipped out the back door a few moments later, there was a lightness to his steps that had nothing to do with his training.

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Ezio returned two days later in the middle of the night.

Leonardo had been asleep, his face pressed into the pillow, a quilt drawn over his shoulders because he'd been too tired from working to undress and just rolled himself across the bed a bit until he was covered and had gone to sleep. He'd been worried since Ezio had left, worried because he knew what kinds of jobs Ezio took, as well as what it meant when the younger man came in through the window and whispered his name like that.

Leonardo sat up and fought with the quilt until he'd untangled himself then groped for the lamp, lighting it quickly blinking as he found the other's shape in the dimness.

Ezio wasn't injured, a scrape and a few bruises but nothing was bleeding, nothing was broken… But there was something in his eyes. Something tired and wounded all the same.

"Are you alright?" Leonardo framed his face with both hands and stroked his thumbs over the ridges of dark eyebrows. "What happened?"

Ezio sighed deeply and bowed his head against the artist's. He didn't really speak, just whispered a question, quiet and somehow plaintive; "Sleep? W-would you stay while I sleep?"

Leonardo nodded and guided him to the bed, taking a moment to undress them both before they slid under the quilts, arms around one another, just feeling Ezio's skin against his own, appreciating how solid and warm and real he was safely back where he belonged…

"Do you wish to talk, Ezio? Sometimes talking can help."

He sighed deeply again and was still for a moment but when he spoke it was not what Leonardo expected; "I can only stay for a few days… I have to go away again… alone, and I won't be back for at least a fortnight."

"Oh…"

"There are men—"

"It is none of my business… You will do what you believe is right, and I will support that." He pressed his lips into the nape of the other's neck. "Will you promise me one thing?

"Yes."

"Promise me you will come home safely?"

Ezio was quiet for a few seconds, then carefully he turned, the bed squeaking quietly beneath him, and faced the blonde in the darkness. "I can't promise… you know that." He brushed a bit of hair from the older man's face and offered a small, almost chaste little kiss in apology. "But I do promise to do everything in my power to assure I return unscathed."

Leonardo chuckled and just lay there smiling at him for a moment wondering what could be going on in Ezio's head at that moment, what it would mean, and if all of this was only for lust or not.

What did this mean, anyway? This ache he felt in his chest whenever he thought of Ezio, the heat that instantly settled into his belly… The knowledge that everything he felt was second to what Ezio wanted… He'd ignored his own growing feelings now for years because Ezio had always drawn back from his embrace, had seemed to flinch under his touch. Had always looked at him with such reservation in his gaze.

_He fought it so much,_ Leonardo sighed, still petting over Ezio's head, fingers carding through long dark hair._ He was terrified… But that fear is gone now. Whoever, or whatever changed that I don't know, but I'm glad it's changed now… And even if this is lust for him, it isn't for me… And I'm tired of being so selfless._

He moves carefully, slowly, drawing the younger man closer and brushing their lips together. _Just this once I am going to be selfish… Just this once—And I pray that this is not just lust for him, because once is not going to be enough._

Ezio's heart skipped a beat and his stomach rose into his throat, pulse pounding in his ears. He remembered nights before, pinned against the door with Leonardo fitted oh so perfectly between his legs, hands so deceptively gentle looking lifting him bodily up and holding him there with very little effort.

What strength… He imagined, briefly, all that strength behind each thrust, and curiously he peered under the blankets, as the blonde moved them.

The light in the room is very dim, just a glow from the fire and the thin illumination from the lamp still burning very low on the side table, but Ezio's eyes have always been very sensitive, able to pick up the slightest movement or change in color or shape, and when he looks his eyes catch a shape beneath Leonardo's loose trousers and he finds himself staring.

"Ezio? Ezio… Are you—are you sure you still want this?"

His mouth felt dry, but he nodded anyway. Eyes still locked on that growing thickening shape next to his hip.

_Distraction, distraction… I need a distraction._ He gave his head a shake and took a deep breath to steady his stomach then lifted his chin, hands finding the blonde's hair and pushing it away from his face so there would be no interruption as their lips sealed together.

He found himself distracted alright, unbelievably ticklish as Leonardo shifted the attention of his kiss to below the younger man's jaw and Ezio had to fight with himself not to squirm and giggle like a child. It's almost unbearable but he was able to ignore it because at that moment the artist had moved over him, their bodies aligned perfectly.

Leonardo was heavier than the girl at Teodora's and the friction his weight caused between them was absolute. Heat through thin linen became the center of Ezio's universe.

It was a giddy sensation, just a lingering twinge of fear as the blonde levered himself up on one elbow and slid a hand between them, plucking at the lacings of their trousers, those blue eyes of his intent and watchful, searching for anything in Ezio's gaze he could consider discomfort or a sign to stop. And although he saw a hint of something he might call unsure, there was nothing telling him in the younger man's body language or little hums and sighs of pleasure that he should stop.

Leonardo knew anatomy, it had fascinated him for years and years now, he had already imagined exactly what Ezio would look like without his clothing, and even though he told himself he was very close to accurate, the moment he moved to the side and watched Ezio knees lift and those hands, hands capable of so much death and destruction, carefully sliding away half of the only physical barrier between them, Leonardo was overcome by something akin to awe. Not at Ezio's size or shape, everything there was just as he had expected, it was the hesitance, perhaps even the innocence with which Ezio undressed himself, his gaze trusting and his movements slow.

Leonardo knew Ezio, knew a rough estimate of the young man's conquests, knew in detail the rumors surrounding his reputation, knew most of the truth behind that reputation, and it shocked him how lovingly and innocently Ezio was offering himself. A slight outward tilt of his right knee, hands up and empty on the pillow by his face, eyes watchful…

Leonardo wished he could capture this moment in its entirety and preserve it for eternity… His fingers itched for his sketchpad. "You're beautiful, Ezio…"

His cheeks pinked and he glanced away for a moment shyly. He mumbled something under his breath Leonardo couldn't quite catch, but he knew why the younger man's hand moved toward the sheet and he wouldn't allow such beauty to be covered simply because he was embarrassed.

Leonardo gathered his hair away from his face and took a moment to just look at the man in his bed, his mind humming and alive with a hundred thoughts and desires, all of them conflicting and some of them just plain silly…

Asking Ezio to hold perfectly still while he fetched up his easel and paints was out of the question. It would take half an hour to get everything he needed up here, and asking the young man to move down stairs was absurd, this fleeting, living-breathing thing would have flitted away by then. So, as much as it pained him that this look, this hesitance, this innocence would be gone in just a few beats of his heart, never to be recorded or sketched, Leonardo just sat there and looked and watched, and finally, when he could stand his own inactivity to longer, and he knew he must or he would go mad, he brushed his fingers along Ezio's right side, the backs of his knuckles catching onetwothree against a pebbled nipple, over pale and bright scars, over a bruised hip and across the younger man's lap. One finger tracing up the outline where coarse dark hair was thickest, dipping into the little bowl of his navel and down again, finding he quite liked the urgent shift and roll of thin hips and the jut of Ezio's sex.

He touched with feather light pressure, seeming only to move the air and never let skin contact skin it was so faint… but the way Ezio reacted was breathtakingly intense.

That blush was gone, replaced by high color on the assassins cheeks, need in the soft sounds that escaped him and perhaps even a little desperation.

Leonardo smiled to himself and leaned forward to capture the younger man's lips again, pleased because now he knew. He knew that some of this was lust, but most of it was not. The part that mattered was all love.

Ezio heard him moving, felt that hand that had traced so briefly down his body, removed, finding something off the side of the bed and he felt his pulse quickening in response, and from the corner of his eye he peered out and saw the little glass bottle the blonde had set on his side table. And when the cork was removed, Ezio recognized the scent wafting from it.

It was not fine olive oil, nor was it a salve as he'd used with Zola… This was very expensive oil scented like roses. Leonardo had used this on him once before, had tipped a few drops onto his strong palms and dug his fingers in mercilessly to a cramped knot in the back of Ezio's shoulder… If he was not mistaken there was a small amount of liniment in it as well and he was opening his mouth to protest, afraid that this small amount of it would burn his lower regions as regular liniment did his eyes but there was already a hand between his legs and—

There was one thing that stood out as different, with that first smooth, insistent push into his body. Leonard's fingers were larger than Zola's. And that first skilled digit stung, almost as if his lower half were refusing, trying to push it out again, but he only bared his teeth to it and his breath hissed as he inhaled, fingers digging in slightly to the sides of Leonardo's head. He closed his eyes and pressed his brow to the artist's. Whining when immediately that slim, skilled digit began working at that place inside him.

He could feel the older man's eyes on his face like heated points, intent and his breath smelled sweet like wine, so he focused on it, as well as the gentle, slow pleasure inside him, and tried to ignore the discomfort.

He could feel the liniment in the oil, but was relieved that it didn't burn savagely… instead it just felt… warmer, and oddly—oddly arousing as it began to t-tingle—

"Oh… I didn't—"

"Didn't what?" Leonardo breathed into his neck.

"I didn't ex-expect it to d-do that."

Leonardo smiled into his neck and Ezio's shoulder twitched toward his ear because the movement tickled.

"The warmth? Well… It relaxes the muscles, you see. I've used it before when my hands cramp."

Ezio had a spectacular mental image of Leonardo spread out on his bed using that oil on himself intimately…

He barely felt the second finger, so enthralled by the tingling heat that had begun to make his toes curl in the sheets and his legs fall farther and farther open so his hips had more room to move.

It was hard to just lay there and let Leonardo do what he wanted, the silence was unbearable. It gave his mind time to obsess on things and begin to worry about what would be thought of him if he should be discovered in such a position.

His heart was hammering and his mouth felt very dry from drawing his breath through it but he made himself speak anyway; "Say something… Please."

"What?"

"A-anything really… I just—I need a di-distraction from the s-silence."

Leonardo chuckled and the sound was like rich dark velvet. "But it's not silent… Can you not hear yourself? Listen…" And he crooked his fingers upward sharply, eyes flicking between where Ezio was pink and glistening around two of his digits, to the helpless expression on his face.

And Ezio became very—very aware of every sound he made. Each breath was a gasp, each exhale was a moan. The bed shifted and squeaked beneath him, the sheets rasped quietly against his skin, and if he listened close enough, he could hear the slick sound of Leonardo's fingers moving in and out of him…

The third finger stung quite a lot, but he was too aroused to let the discomfort stop him. Those were Leonardo's fingers so deeply embedded in him, those hands he worked with every day to create such beauty were pulling whorish sounds from Ezio's throat, were making pleasure shoot like lightning strikes through his whole body.

Those skilled, talented, blessed fingers made that hidden nub of tender, sensitive flesh inside him sing.

There was no longer a question as to what he wanted, no longer any hesitation. Ezio needed it, and he needed it now.

"Ezio… Mi Amore… Roll over for me, it will be easier that way the first time… Y-you're less likely to move and cause yourself injury."

In his mind Zola's warning shot through again. _You feel pain for a reason, Ezio, if it is there, tell him._

"If… if it hurts I'll say so." He swallowed thickly, his heart pounding against his ribs as if it were trying to escape. His hands and legs and body shook as he rolled onto his stomach, watching over his shoulder as Leonardo rose to his knees and pushed his trousers down.

Ezio wanted to feel embarrassed for staring, but at the moment all he could think about was how good it had felt when the girl at Teodora's had penetrated him… How she had moved and each shift had—had touched that place inside him, how hard he had climaxed…

Leonardo stroked some of the oil over himself and slowly, without speaking nudged with fingertips until Ezio had raised himself onto hands and knees, gathering the pillows up for the younger man to lean his chest against.

Ezio felt somehow scandalous realizing he was about to have sex in such a forbidden position. He'd heard about it, had peeked through a window once at a courtesan and some stranger going at it like this, he giggled to himself, unable to help it, and his eyes flashed over his shoulder when Leonardo rolled his own amusedly and kissed a trail down his spine, fingers sinking back in again, continuing to pump almost lazily in and out.

"Breathe out, love…"

His eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before releasing it slowly, just as the girl had told him to before.

The first contact was beautiful, hot and firm and he felt his body opening to receive it, felt a jolt of pleasure at the memory of how good it had felt, but… But this changed quickly, because as soon as it started Ezio knew there was something very, very different

Leonardo was much, much larger than Zola had been…

And this hurt.

There was pleasure, but it didn't come close to outweighing how badly it hurt. His insides cramped, involuntarily clamping down and causing the slow push to become excruciating. Making the stretch seem all the more terrible and his hand came up, fitting against the back of Leonardo's right, his eyes squeezed closed, teeth grit.

"Alright, just breathe for a moment." The hand on his stomach pressed firmly, and the advance into his body stilled.

Ezio took a few deep breaths and even let the older man move his hand downward and give his sex a few apologetic strokes, trying to distract him from the discomfort. He nodded, and let his breath out again, ready to continue.

Leonardo seemed to brace himself and pressed inward again.

Ezio made a noise. A soft little gasping sound he didn't even know he'd made, but then his breath hitched, seized and came out in a sob.

He felt as if he were being torn, end every second only made the hurt worse.

Being stabbed or shot had not even hurt this badly. And the pain wasn't just at his opening, but seemed to encompass his entire stomach. Every muscle and organ within tightening impossibly, making any forward motion feel like he was being ripped apart.

Four or five little kisses were laid into his skin, ticklish from the artist's beard, and his voice seemed to become steadier with each passing second. "If it's too much I will stop, just tell me. Please… Please, say something."

He wanted to nod, to say that he was alright, to please continue… But he couldn't. He felt overwhelmed, terrified that this pain wasn't going to fade, that the only reason he'd felt pleasure the first time was because Zola had not been of average size, there had been no unnatural stretching… Unlike now when it felt as if he were being pushed apart at the seams. What if it never felt any better than this? He loved Leonardo and if that were the case he would bite his lip and endure it. But what if his body was made differently? What if this injured him? What if he was torn and bled horribly? What if a doctor had to be called?

His breath hiccupped in his throat and his eyes burned; "Leo, I-I'm… I—" He sobbed; "Please stop. Plea— Please stop. I-I'm so sorry, please."

The artist moved smoothly, gently, pressing a single firm kiss between Ezio's shoulders as he removed himself, arms shifting, pressing here and there, gathering the younger man into his arms and holding him. "It's alright, don't apologize."

"I only wanted to—" The firm pressure against his thigh was all the evidence he needed that he'd somehow failed Leonardo. He dug his nails into his arms and ground his teeth, trying to scratch out the ache that had nothing to do with the physical. "But I didn't, and you're still—"

"Shhh, just relax." He tucked Ezio's head under his chin and rubbed gently at his scalp. "Don't cry, please… It's over, love. Just relax, I'm here, I will remain here."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be sorry, Ezio, you were frightened and your body reacted naturally. It's alright." He whispered, holding the young man closer with each breath. "Are you still in pain?"

His pride bade him to shake his head, but it was an empty gesture.

"It is intimidating, I've forgotten that. I apologize for not preparing you better… I was too drunk to be worried my first time… Don't let it bother you. It's something that has to be eased into. It's not so easy for us as it is for women.

Ezio scoffed into the artist's chest.

He smiled into the young man's hair. "Are you calmer now?"

"I-I don't think I can try again toni—"

"No, that wasn't what I was implying… I want to make sure you weren't injured, will you let me?"

He tensed at the thought, but nodded and worried his lip with his teeth.

Leonardo shifted around a little, finding his trousers in the floor and pulling them back on. He padded to the other end of the room and turned the lamp up, and pulling a cloth from his wash stand, pouring water from the kettle he kept near the hearth over it until he was satisfied with the degree of wetness.

Ezio covered his eyes with his arm, feeling ashamed all over again. He heard Leonardo moving things on his side table, putting the bottle of rose oil away, a cork popping out of and back into place. And when the artist eased back into the bed he pulled the blankets up. He didn't speak, but gentle touches guided Ezio to lift his leg enough to allow access, the artist's gaze focused between their bodies.

Ezio swallowed thickly, feeling his heart jumping around erratically in his chest. "A-am I bleeding?" he didn't dare look, just focused outward on the room itself as a distraction.

"Shhhh, not much. Just relax.'

He hid his face, shame like a sour sludge in the back of his throat.

The chill of the cloth, and perhaps some herb or tonic the artist had infused it with while at his side table seemed to chase the ache away, leaving him oddly numbed.

"You didn't have to do that."

"You sleep more soundly when you're not in pain, and I would hate myself to know that you were sleepless because of me."

He could feel the firmness of the other's shaft waning against his thigh, and he wanted to pound the pillow with his fists because now that it was over, now that he'd said to stop, he felt so weak. So stupid… He was no stranger to pain, he could have endured it!

"I can still touch you, there need not be an end to it all."

"I won't let you until you've had pleasure yourself." His arms were warm and heavy and he spoke in a soft dreamy voice as if he were half asleep.

Ezio didn't reply, just snuffed and scrubbed his eyes with his fist, folding his arms tightly against the blonde's chest and letting himself be enveloped.

Leonardo hummed quietly and carded his fingers through the younger man's hair, he continued until the tense body in his arms relaxed slowly into sleep, and pressed soft feather light kisses to a worried crease in Ezio's brow. "I wish you could understand that this, just holding you. To me, is worth a thousand nights of sweat and moaning." His fingers found a ridge of soft red scar tissue on the assassins's shoulder and traced it, his face twisting as if feeling the pain of it himself. "Because if you are in my arms, I know no harm will come to you."

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_There's more to come, but I had to break it up into two or three parts. Hope this suffices for this week._

_Love,_

_OZ_

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	3. Part 3

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**Unfortunate; Part 3**

Ezio didn't get out of bed the next morning… He just lay there for a long while staring at nothing.

Leonardo checked on him frequently, peering in with a crease between his brows because Ezio was so still. He was never so still unless he was hurt or sick or stalking you like a cat. He wanted to say something, anything to try and ease the tension he could feel emanating from the younger man like heat, but every time he opened his mouth to speak, he found he couldn't. That afternoon he returned to standing there outside the door, just watching him, the cuffs of his blouse still a little damp from washing the paint from his hands. It didn't appear that Ezio had moved at all, so he crept slowly into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. When the younger man didn't open his mouth, or really do much of anything at all, he sat his jaw and crawled across the coverlet, forming himself against the other's back, pulling and tugging at the quilt until he found Ezio's head and one pale naked shoulder.

After a few slow, gentle presses of the artist's lips against the back of his neck he relaxed some, shifting back into his embrace.

Leonardo's voice was hushed, secret and in a way apologetic;

"You're sore."

Ezio felt heat rise to his face and he shifted his head against the pillow so he could stare sightlessly at the drapes and the little dust motes dancing in the light peeking in between them.

"I have more of—"

"I'm fine…" His voice came out barely as a whisper and he seemed to curl inward a little in his shame.

"Ezio, I—" Leonardo took a deep breath and let it out slowly, finding the other man's hand where it peeked from under the blankets and lacing their fingers together. "What frightened you so?"

He tilted his head and rubbed his face into the pillow in a solid 'no'.

"Would you rather try it the other way?"

Ezio didn't speak, but drew the artist's hand up and pulled one finger slowly between his lips, his tongue working hesitantly around it.

Heat shot to Leonardo's groin and he leaned his brow into the back of Ezio's shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. How was it that in this one simple, tiny, and wholly erotic gesture, he was able to hear everything Ezio was unable to say? Either for fear, or because he couldn't put his desires into words.

It was entirely soundless for a long while, just the thunder of his heart in his ears and the warmth of Ezio's mouth around his index finger, the flutter of his breath as it quickened against the back of his hand.

The slight shift in the bed and the hum that shot from his finger to his crotch were so small, but so important, so earth shatteringly significant Leonardo couldn't help himself and he shifted closer, mouth closing over the back of Ezio's shoulder to suckle on a pale line of scar tissue, hips rocking gently against the younger man's backside through the quilts.

He could almost picture Ezio's free hand down there, beneath the blankets moving over himself, such a small, seemingly insignificant, forbidden act.

His breath hitched and he found the shell of Ezio's ear, drawing the lobe between his lips; "Trust me…" He whispered, and when the younger man tensed as he moved he said it again.

Ezio had his eyes closed, it was easier to stay relaxed if his eyes were closed. He could pretend it was simply a leap of faith, loosening his limbs and opening himself up to it, feeling chilled air on his skin as Leonardo pulled the blankets back, drawing him into strong arms, back to chest. He could feel the direction in the room, pictured himself sitting there in Leonardo's lap facing the wash stand in the corner, the windows to his right. He could practically feel those thin like knives beams of warm sunlight slicing across his skin.

"Shhhh," A warm, open mouthed kiss was pressed to the side of his throat and the artist's beard tickled beneath his ear. "Open your eyes… Look at yourself."

Ezio peeked out through slit lids, taking in the room; the hearth and its black bottomed kettle on the grate, the trunk in the corner containing bed linins. The thick dark drapes over the windows, the flicker of firelight. The washstand—The fact he could see himself in the small mirror above it… He could see himself, naked as the day he was born sitting in Leonardo's lap with his legs open, the artist's finger in his mouth and hisown hand wrapped around h-himself.

He flinched and tried to jerk his hand back but Leonardo's own wrapped gently around his wrist, knees cocking outward to widen the gap between Ezio's thighs. He cooed again, softly, breathing encouragement as his fingers dipped lower.

Ezio was enthralled by the sight, unable to look away, even as his heart thudded like a caged bird behind his ribs, and the older man's fingers slid beneath his sex to find his opening.

He was sore… and the feather light brush of the older man's fingers made the tenderness seem to burn and tingle in a not quite unpleasant way.

It was so strange seeing that part of himself, a part of himself he'd never seen before, being touched, being so carefully stroked and petted with such tenderness and l-love.

"There is more than one way to enjoy a man's company," Leonardo breathed into his ear. "Penetration is one extreme… This is another." And his fingers continued those slow, torturous motions, drawing patterns and even letters around and across that little point he could barely make out in the mirror.

It… It felt amazing… Intense and nearly overwhelming, watching as if from outside his body while feeling it as well. He moaned around the finger in his mouth, taking in another when it was offered, arm going above his head to brace himself by gripping the older man's shirt. He could feel heat and firmness at the small of his back and he arched against it as much as he could, hearing a soft whine from the man behind him.

Through the entirety of their failed attempt the night before, Ezio could not remember hearing the blonde make any sound of pleasure. It—It felt empowering that he'd been able to draw such a sound out now, when there was no penetration involved. When his body was not being breached and when Leonardo was still tucked into his pants.

It was freeing, perhaps, to realize that one could feel such intense sexual pleasure without putting themselves in anything, or having someone inside them. He felt a little slow and dimwitted at only having discovered this now after so many years.

He had to force himself to blink, not wanting to look away from what the older man was doing to him. Finding the flex of Leonardo's wrist and fingers in the mirror probably the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. Eyes slipping every so often to the pull of his own fingers on his shaft. The moisture that had begun to steadily leak out and ease the friction of his hand.

Leonardo chuckled quietly into his hair, watching everything with pleasure glazed eyes; "This—" He indicated his fingers with a firm swirling motion against the younger man's opening, "—Can also be done with the tongue… I must admit I'd like to—"

His words were drowned out by a quick, almost startled cry and Ezio gave a little jerk in his arms. Leonardo had to pull his fingers from between those reddened, swollen lips to catch the younger man with a palm to his chest, incase he should fall into the floor.

Ezio lie there against him panting, lashes fanned on his flushed cheeks, a thin string of drool on his lower lip and chin, a sticky wetness splashed over his fingers and stomach.

Leonardo chuckled and continued to gently pet the still twitching pucker beneath his fingers and sighed. _Oh, to be young again…_

"You're very easy to please, I suppose." He made a pattern of little kisses across Ezio's shoulder.

"I…" He didn't open his eyes; "I was im-imaging you d-doing th-that with your m-mouth and—"

"Hmmm, yes. You would like that?"

He nodded quickly.

"Have you ever pleasured anyone with your mouth?"

After a moment of careful thought his cheeks reddened and he shook his head. "The w-women I've been with all seem satisfied w-with this."

Leonardo practically giggled; "You're able to pleasure a woman with those two minutes?"

Ezio's brow wrinkled and his eyes opened to slits; "Normally I'm not so quick to please."

"Then perhaps it is the company you keep that bores you."

He didn't reply, but the tilt of his brows made Leonardo feel a bit smug and he rolled his hips again trying to find a little more friction. He may have lived celibately for years now, but he was a man and being denied his release twice now was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He reasoned he would have to make sure Ezio was either fully awake or tucked back to sleep before… before—

Those gold eyes were locked on his own now and there was something in them. Something unsure but grateful, and his petting fingers were still petting…

"Leo…"

He couldn't really protest, couldn't say that he thought it best if he left the room and dealt with his 'problem' privately because there was such want in Ezio's face he wasn't sure he would be able to fully restrain himself. So when the younger man moved, shifting off his lap, groping for and finding the cloth Leonardo had used to sooth him the night before and hastily cleaning himself, the artist just sat there and watched.

Leonardo couldn't conceivably deny Ezio anything. So he wordlessly did whatever the other told him with the tilt of his gaze and the flush of his cheeks. Leaned his shoulders back against the pillows and watched as those strong calloused hands, turned gentle and somehow clumsy, tugged at the lacings of his pants, how those fingers trembled a little with anticipation as they drew him slowly out, eyes curious.

Part of him wanted to give pointers, to instruct him, but another part just wanted to sit back and see what Ezio would do on his own. Perhaps the loss of control the night before had been what was ultimately their downfall? Ezio's fear of being pinned? Maybe it was the act itself. Maybe it was still just unfamiliar and now would be different?

Ezio's hands worked carefully, eyes watchful ready incase he did something wrong.

Leonardo would never admit aloud that Ezio looked a little awkward there, naked, sitting on his thighs, one hand braced on the pillow, the other pulling slowly, carefully, his expression so very unsure of himself.

It seemed somehow unnatural that Ezio would be unsure of himself, that he would feel anxious or afraid.

Leonardo brushed his knuckles against the younger man's cheek, smiling when Ezio leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut.

His arousal already returning, and Leonardo was baffled once more, by the capabilities of a young man's body.

"Ezio?"

He flinched a little at the suddenness of the sound and his grip went very tight for a second, then loosened.

"Switch hands."

"What?"

Leonardo smiled indulgently and took the younger man's right hand away from his shaft and wrapped it around the assassin's own. "Switch hands… You are primarily right handed, yes?"

He nodded, looking confused.

"Then your left will follow your right."

Ezio blinked, as if the realization literally smacked him in the face and he settled himself a little closer, taking a deep breath and letting it out. He felt a little foolish, there was no mystery in a man's body. He'd explored his own in private frequently enough, although he would never admit it, when it came to pleasuring himself with a curled palm he was well versed. Why then had he been moving so slowly? So experimentally? Leonardo was a man, more likely than not what felt good to Ezio would in practice feel good to the older man as well, but there he'd been going about it hesitantly, as if he didn't know what he was doing! If Leonardo had been a woman, Ezio would have been kicked out of the bed by now.

"You're trying too hard," Leonardo chuckled lightly; "It is very simple, don't over complicate things."

Ezio snorted in embarrassment and he tilted his head back, eyes fluttering closed. It was his nature to over think things. That was how he'd survived as long as he had. It was sometimes confusing when he was presented with simple things such as this. He had to focus himself and remind his body that sometimes things were purely and simply what they were.

Leonardo's hands rested easily on his hips, fingers kneading gently, his hips rocking slowly.

_He was right_, Ezio decided, _the left does follow the right in simpler activities._ He chuckled to himself, 'simpler activities' indeed.

Leonardo's hands pulled a little and Ezio leaned himself forward into it, seeming to know by instinct how to cock his knees outward a little more to allow the movement, shifting himself forward just a little more until he was aware of that startling heat and firmness pressed to the underside of his own. His head rocked forward with a gasp and he found himself staring down through his lashes where he and the blonde were pressed so intimately together.

Leonardo's eyes were glassy and intent a light flush to his cheeks, and Ezio's left hand came up to rest on the pillow by the artist's head, the fingers of his right widening to encompass the other man's girth as well, finding this angle much easier to deal with, the stretch of muscles in his inner thighs adding to the sensation of friction as he rocked his hips uncertainly into the motions, groaning audibly as the older man's fingers slid around the curve of his behind and began oh so gently petting over his opening once more.

It was so intense that for a moment he completely shut down and merely sat there with his eyes closed and his mouth open, panting through it.

Leonardo hummed in approval; "Your body is very sensitive… do you like this?" His fingers made a spiraling pattern and pressed inward ever so slightly, drawing forth a whine of pleasure and a sharp buck of hips against his own.

He swallowed thickly and just admired the younger man hovering over him for a moment, in awe of everything, all the decisions and coincidences that had to collide to get them to this point. Part of him chuckled inside thinking that if ever he were to meet the girl who had given Ezio the confidence to admit to himself that he desired something more, that he might just kiss her, even if women were strange alien creatures with disgusting bodily secretions.

It was so very satisfying seeing the younger man straddling him like this, his fingers curled around the proof of their shared want, totally and completely at ease with the world, not a care or worry but for the continued expression of his pleasure.

Leonardo would have gladly and wantonly continued on in this fashion for all of eternity. But Ezio was pressing back onto his fingers again, urging them deeper into his body, and the tilt of his eyebrows and the hitch in his breath spoke of unsatisfied need, and Leonardo knew that this wouldn't be enough for the younger man.

"Ezio?" He wetted his lips; "Would you like to try again, or is this enough for now?"

Those dark brows knitted and his lower lip went between his teeth, a wrinkle of concentration settling into place on his brow.

Leonardo didn't move even so much as a fraction, he needed to know this decision came from Ezio, not his pleasure. He would never be able to forgive himself if they went ahead with this and it turned out the younger man was only caught up in the moment and hadn't truthfully been ready for it.

Ezio's head bobbed up and down a few times and his heart jumped into his throat.

Leonardo groped to the side of his bed and pulled the drawer, fingers automatically finding that vial of rose oil, his things so meticulously organized in the drawer he knew without looking where everything was.

Ezio kept his eyes closed, face lowered, hand moving slowly around his own and the artist's arousals. He tried to ignore all the chatter in his mind, the worry and the memory of pain from the night before, but every time he tried to shake them from his mind he could feel every muscle and organ in his belly tightening impossibly, as if just to spite him.

What was the matter with him? One moment everything felt so good and he was almost certain he was ready for it, that everything he'd wanted for such a long time would finally FINALLY happen… And the next moment he was positively shaking, his teeth chattering as if he were frozen to the bone, or going into deep shock.

"Ezio?" The hand on the small of his back was almost startling but he kept himself from flinching, kept himself from baring his teeth and crying out in surprise.

"Ezio, stop that for a moment and look at me."

He had to force his hand to stop moving, had to will his eyes to open, and once they were he wished he'd kept them closed.

Leonardo's expression was tender, indulgent, but somehow sad. And the vial of rose oil was sitting unopened on the side table.

Ezio wondered briefly what he'd done wrong, but then his eyes slid to his lap and he saw instantly what it was. Leonardo was still quite ready for the act, his arousal firm and cradled happily in Ezio's palm… but the assassin's own had deflated—

Ezio cursed bitterly, loudly, and threw himself off the bed, heels stamping into the floor as he snatched up the clothing the blonde had given him to wear and pulled it hastily on, grumbling and cursing at himself, wetness streaming from both eyes.

Leonardo was slower to move, sitting up, whining as he tucked himself back into his pants and gave the laces a jerk. His hands came up, pleading, eyes wide and confused. But as much as he tried to calm the younger man, tried to stop him, Ezio would not be stopped, and would not hear what was being said.

Leonardo could barely understand him, it wasn't even words that were coming out of his mouth, just growls and groans of displeasure and curses to himself and his manhood.

Ezio yanked his boots on and threw on a cape. He didn't stop when the blonde called his name, didn't even so much as slow down, just threw open the drapes, smacked the window open and was gone.

Everything was cold and dreary looking, the sky heavily clouded and dark, very few people were out and those who were seemed to rue the fact. Mud was thick and slippery and the stones seemed to have been greased but Ezio kept walking, arms tightly twined around his middle, hair hanging into his face. A distinct soreness between his hips at every step was like a heartbeat of a reminder. A little voice that shouted of his failure with every stride farther and farther away from Leonardo's studio.

His mind screamed at him, shouted and begged and raged and he cupped his brow for a moment and leaned against a wall grinding his teeth. When the silence he commanded didn't come he began scaling the side of the building, not even bothering to feel amused or irritated by the cries of outrage from behind him. His body protested, muscles in his lower abdomen crying out at the stress, but he didn't slow, didn't stop, he just kept climbing.

He didn't stop until he'd reached the very top of the building, frightening a few birds roosting under the cloistering of this specific tower, and there he perched himself. Crouching on the edge of the roof with his hair whipped back and forth in the cold wind, his thin shirt and breaches doing nothing to hold back the chill, cape fluttering. He wept.

He couldn't understand it. Could not conceive as to why his body would betray him like this. Before his mind had been the culprit, his body confessing its truth and his needs at every glance and brief touch the blonde had passed his way. But now it seemed to so readily recoil, as if saying in a child's voice that it had only been teasing.

It was unfair, wholly and completely unfair.

But, he reminded himself, when had life ever claimed to be fair.

What rubbish.

He scrubbed his face on his sleeve and crouched there hugging himself, staring out over the city and the sea. Snuffling back a clogged, hot feeling in his throat and sinuses.

_I love him, why can I not share that? Why can I not let it happen? _

He was tempted to go back to Teodora's and find that girl from before. Maybe she would understand? Maybe she could offer some little bit of wisdom that would make everything OK again?

He felt himself nodding, certainty like a flame in his chest, he stood, his knees and legs and inner muscles protesting, and off he went at a fast pace.

Teodora though, was less than pleased to see him. She seemed paler than usual and moved slowly, a thick robe around her shoulders to block out the chill. Quite a few of the other girls were similarly afflicted and when he asked what the matter was, one of the girls, wrapped in her quilts and sitting before the fire, lifted her head and called out; "It's a curse! We've all been cursed!"

A few of the others shushed her and flapped their hands.

Ezio wrinkled his nose and shook his head, what madness, to believe in curses.

Teodora answered him directly when he asked where the girl from the other night was. "She is not here." And that was the end of that.

She didn't talk much otherwise, just listed to him and refilled his cup with wine every so often. She asked him after his sixth glass, if he had eaten anything that day, and when he said no she smiled at him in a way that was anything but amused.

After he'd finished the bottle he was feeling decidedly better, and he realized a little too late that he'd been rather boldly, and openly, rubbing himself through his pants and offered a slur of an apology.

Teodora just shook her head and seemed to tilt at a peculiar angle from the floor… Then for a long while Ezio knew nothing.

He woke late the next morning lying sprawled on his face on a couch in the back parlor. With a dozen or more flushed faces pressed close to him.

He only recognized a few of them, but not in a way that would mean they should be so close to him when he felt so terrible.

His head clanged like an alarm bell. And everything ached.

"Shoo, SHOOO! Leave him alone!" A familiar voice seemed to cut through the cotton in his head and he clamped his eyes tightly shut against it.

A warm calloused hand pressed between his shoulders and that voice leaned in close, whispering; "Oh, Ezio…" A sigh; "Come on… I'll take you home."

Home?

He pried his eyes open and found himself groaning again in misery because he knew that face, knew that worry between blonde brows, and that crease he had single handedly put above Leonardo's nose.

But how did the artist figure out where he was?

Then again, why was he not surprised? There were only a few places in the city he could hide.

The walk back to Leonardo's studio was hellish. Where before it had been cloudy and wet and dreary, now the sun was out and despite the chill people were everywhere. The noise was like a drum knell in his head and twice he had to break away from the artist to stagger into an alleyway and be sick.

Drinking so much on an empty stomach had not been a wise idea.

By the time they made it back Ezio was a dead weight on the older man's shoulder and he only barely seemed capable of moving his feet.

After they were over the threshold Leonardo knocked the door shut and just politely picked him up. Sighing irritably as the younger man just hung like a dead thing over his arms.

"You are so dramatic… Surely the wine has not made your head that sore?"

Ezio groaned but refused to admit, even to himself, that part of it was shame at his impotence the day before. It was much easier to play deathly ill than deathly humiliated.

Leonardo put him on a couch to one side of the room and tugged a thick quilt over him like a tent. A few moments later the dull empty thud of a bucket echoed in the room as it was placed near by as well as the slosh of a pitcher and cup.

Ezio wrinkled his brow and ground his teeth when he felt the artist's hand settle on his shoulder. The air was very tense for a moment or so, as if Leonardo wanted to speak, but wouldn't allow himself. Then the blonde was gone, off to his work.

Ezio peeked out from beneath the quilt a few times, and just watched him. Regret like a stone in his belly.

Leonardo moved so slowly, as if his heart wasn't in it, and a few times he sat his things down and dropped into a chair with his head in his hands.

_Maybe…_ Ezio thought, _maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I shouldn't have come here… Maybe I shouldn't have told him_. He swallowed an ache in his throat and closed the gap of the quilt, tucking his fists under his chin and trying to keep his breathing calm, short… Tried to bite back the burn of tears in his sinuses.

He dozed off for a few hours and woke to find Leonardo sitting in one corner, eyes almost feverish as he worked with a knife on a piece of wood.

Ezio sat up and squinted, trying to figure out what the blonde was doing. It looked like perhaps he was making the handle for a chisel or a hammer or something. On Leonardo's long list of talents was engineer, carpenter and even tailor, so Ezio wasn't really surprised. He just watched for a few minutes then sighed and said in a quiet voice that he felt filthy and was going to bathe.

Leonardo didn't even so much as acknowledge him, so Ezio hung his head and shuffled to the back wash room and set about making a fire. Judging by the placement of the sun he only had a few hours before he had to leave anyway… _Damn it._ He didn't know how long he would be gone, and it would be nice to bathe beforehand, even if he hated doing it. God only knew what kind of grime he would end up wading in, at least then the layers of it would be less thick if he washed right before he left.

His robes were hung carefully in one corner of the wash room, dry and cleaned and a few seams had been repaired and a patch over a stained torn place where an arrow had caught him weeks and weeks ago. He took a moment, standing there waiting for the water to heat, and fussed over the clothes, wary and feeling watched as he picked loose threads and such. He felt compulsed to do this every so often, and every time he came across a tear or a stain or a hole he'd made he felt overwhelmingly guilty for ruining his father's clothes. Clothes he'd taken such pride in.

He wanted to thump his head against a wall until his brains fell out sometimes from the shame.

By the time he was finished with his bath, dried and dressed, it was nearing sundown. He emptied the dirty water, now grown quite cold, down the grate and covered the older man's tub again, then with a sigh, exited the wash room and crept through the kitchen into the work room.

Leonardo was standing at his table with a few lamps lit around him, putting a few finishing touches on the handle he'd made. It was startlingly plain in Ezio's opinion, especially considering who had made it, but the longer he looked at it the less, he realized, that it looked like a handle to anything.

He wasn't even sure what to call it. A club maybe? Had Leonardo made a wooden stake or a large pin? Maybe it was for one of the ships at the docks?

"Leonardo, I—"

Blue eyes snapped to his face, and there was such overwhelming joy there that for a moment Ezio wondered what had happened to cause him to become so happy again.

"Ezio! Come look at this!" He held a finger to his lips and a slight flush came to his cheeks.

Ezio shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but approached anyway, his head bowed.

Leonardo presented the thing on flat palms, his face mischievous; "I think this may help you with your… our problem."

Ezio blinked stupidly at it. "What is it?"

Leonardo blushed, leaned forward, and whispered it into the younger man's ear. "I believe I've realized what the problem was… And this will help you to overcome the fear of it. It should hopefully, ease you into the whole thing—"

And Ezio felt his face go quite, quite red because now he realized what the thing was and what he was supposed to do with it.

"It might be easier this way… If it is still what you want."

He swallowed past a strange tightness in his throat and offered a quick little nod. It wasn't as if he could refuse the thing anyway. The hint of encouragement, of love, in Leonardo's expression made refusing absolutely impossible. So, feeling even more humiliated than he had been before, he took it, holding it in a bit of cloth the older man had produced, while he was given a rather serious talk on how—how to use it.

Leonardo explained in a way that seemed delicate, trying not to actually say what he meant, but implying it.

Ezio decided just saying _'put it in your ass'_ would have been less traumatic than this. But he held his tongue, displaying a good bit of common sense he remembered years ago, his father telling him that he lacked.

Leonardo was trying to help, and although it was horridly embarrassing, he _was_ helping.

When the blonde finished talking and folded his hands together trying to suppress his own nervousness Ezio nodded and rolled the thing up in the cloth he'd been given and hid it at the very bottom of his bag.

"I tried to make it very plain and innocuous… Incase someone should find it… As it is you could conceivably use it as a weapon if it came down to it." He made a little chopping, or bludgeoning motion with a curled hand.

Ezio swallowed past a groan at the mental image that provided him. Only in his head the tool in question had been visually replaced by a rather realistic looking penis. He nodded and shifted uncomfortably on his feet, trying to hide the color that had risen quite steadily to his face.

After a moment of this silent awkwardness Leonardo tucked a bit of his hair behind his ear and turned away; "Be careful, Ezio… Try—Try not to…" His voice faded off and he began fiddling with things on his work bench just so his hands would have something to do. When he looked up again Ezio was much closer to him, so close he could feel the younger man's breath against his jaw.

There was no pulling away this time, no innocent shrugging off of the pressure, no clap of palms against shoulders. Ezio pulled him close and buried his face into the crook of Leonardo's neck. His arms were warm and somehow mournful that this could possibly be the last time they were able to embrace, and there was a desperation in it as well, a desperation to show and share as much as possible and not take a single moment for granted.

Leonardo tangled his fingers in the cape over Ezio's shoulders and squeezed, as if trying to draw the younger man into his breast to live and thrive in peace beside his very beating heart.

"Come back to me, Ezio… I don't care how, just please—please, come back to me."

"I will… Even if it takes me a thousand years, I will come back."

And he was gone with the sun, leaving behind only the lingering warmth in Leonardo's chest and his scent on the artist's pillows.

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_I could so totally end this right here. :P _

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	4. Part 4

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_Another experiment... Blah. I need to just admit to myself that third person omniscient is my forte and live with it. *il sigh*_

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**Unfortunate; Part 4**

There is a bitterness in leaving someone you love.

In knowing that as you part it may be the last time you embrace.

There is a fear in it as well… A fear that death will separate you before you've ever gotten the chance to show how deeply and how truly you love them.

But, there is also a strength that it gives you. A strength and determination that you_ will_ see them again, you _will_ return you _WILL_ wrap your arms and maybe even your body around that person again.

There is a force behind Ezio's sword that before there wasn't. There is a stealth in him that before was absent… There is a coldness in his gaze that would chill a normal man to death.

But there is also an agitation. A frustration that borderlines sexual… that _is_ in fact sexual, because every time his blade finds enemy flesh, part of his mind wanders and he imagines skin on skin and the solid give of one body to the press of another.

This distraction is deadly and a knife slips beneath his armor and finds his side.

He bows into it with a snarl, jerks his blade from one dead man's throat and plunges it into his attacker's left eye, twisting and kicking the body away as more crowd toward him in the increasingly small space of the alleyway.

Where was Paola? She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to have had that door at his back unlocked for him! He was supposed to have been able to slip in unnoticed while he fled and the bastards would have run past without knowing where he'd gone. He shouldn't have had to resort to this—this massacre.

These men could have remained innocent pawns of his target, instead of targets themselves.

He didn't have time to pull the knife free and his whole left side feels weak because of it, but he pushes onward, trying to work around the soldiers and back out into the open where he can run.

Instead a knotted rope drops out of the sky over him, a hastily tied loop heavily sagging over his head and one arm.

He fights with it at first in a panic because his attackers choose that moment to rush forward as one, swords drawn, thinking they have him pinned now—

And the rope goes taut, yanking him roughly off his feet and up into the air.

The knife in his side is jerked free and he gives a quick little bark at the pain of it, vision swimming as he's hauled upward, grabbed under both arms and pulled bodily to his feet.

"Time to run," Someone says in his ear; "The Vixen's position was compromised."

He turns and spots a familiar cape, brown embroidered with gold and the man is gone over the rooftops.

Ezio growls, presses a hand to his wound and follows as quickly as he can, breath heaving, hissing curses at himself to put more speed into his legs, more strength into his leaps, and to shake the dizziness from his head.

He makes it halfway across the village before his left leg buckles and he skids to a halt on his chest, leaving a smear of blood in his wake across some rich man's rooftop balcony.

He lays there for a while, stunned, trying to catch his breath, ears ringing with the distant sound of bells, and a strange whirring sound of blood loss.

The man in the brown cape is back again, grumbling bitterly about his clumsiness. "Get up, quick…ly…" His face seems to crumble beneath his hood when he sees the blood and his hands pull at Ezio clothes, the grumbling sharpens into a hiss and all talk of movement is gone. "Stay still…" The words come out in a whisper and everything seems silent but for them. Even the bells seem to have stopped. Nothing but those hushed words and the gasp of his breath remain.

The Fox's hands feel warm, almost hot against his face and the side of his throat, sliding in sweat and rainwater. Fingers curl and give him a sharp little shake. "Breathe, Ezio… You have to breathe."

He nods and focuses on that, drawing each breath inward and letting it out again.

A few moments within the tension later and the other man bends close again, his words just a hint of sound in the night; "Can you walk?"

He swallows the dryness in his throat and nods, scraping his cheek even more against the stones beneath him.

He is helped to his feet, the motion stopping and starting sporadically, the world blurring and smearing along with it.

"Ezio," Something smacks sharply against the side of his face, but he can't feel it… thinks it's peculiar that he can't feel it.

His face seems to be oddly numb.

"Ezio, I think you were poisoned…" The Fox says quietly, fingers picking at the tear in his clothes and skin. That is strangely numb as well now.

He opens his mouth to agree, but that isn't what comes out, those violet eyes look somehow enraged and a hand shoves his head to the side just in time.

Ezio supposes he's lucky he hasn't eaten anything that day, or else there would have been more of a mess.

Movement is flowing, twisting, turning, seesawing back and forth and his head hangs as a sort of counterweight to it. He can see his feet moving, dragging through mud and water and he thinks his legs look oddly puppet like… Like that wooden puppet Leonardo had wanted from the market…

"If you call me that one more time, boy I will leave you here." The other man sounds very angry about something. Ezio wonders what it could possibly be. Perhaps he is constipated…

"I am NOT constipated you ungrateful little…" He grunts with effort; "You are fat and heavy… No, don't stop moving your legs! _WALK_ YOU LITTLE FOOL!"

His uncle's face looms up at him from the darkness a little bit later, and it looks unnatural that there should be such worry etched on his features. Or that his hands should be so gentle, brushing wet hair back or pulling clothing away from a numb wound.

There is a woman now… long dark hair and dark eyes… another man, just a pale blur in the blackness… some faceless specter… bodiless hands reaching out of the abyss, holding him down while someone sets a flame to his flesh.

He cries out at the abruptness of it, the sharp hard hurt of it and tries to twist free and escape.

Time jumps around again, without his permission and the intensity of his rage fades.

There is a bird… Leonardo likes birds. This one is quite large, maybe he could catch it and take it back as a present?

The bird squawks and flogs him when he tries to catch it and yet he tries again, reaching out and grabbing at it, calling to it—

The bird's face peels off and beneath it is something horrific and full of teeth and wide pale eyes.

"BE STILL!"

He launches himself up fighting, howling in panic at the hellish heat surrounding him and the abrupt burning agony through his middle—

There are hands. Big strong hands grabbing him by each shoulder and gripping him tightly, something firm and smelling of sweat and too much wine and the arms that were restraining him are holding him, words he can't really understand hissed into his ear like a prayer.

"He's making too much noise!" A voice somewhere beyond his sight. Some disembodied mouth floating out there flapping in the wind.

"He's delirious, he can't help it." The arms and chest he was pressed so tightly to growled back.

"He will give away our position! They know one of us was wounded. They'll be seeking out strange noises… That dottore you found was a miracle, in itself, I don't think we will be as lucky if someone should hear him!"

"God's BLOOD! Make him be _still!"_

"Mario, the whole mission will fail if we are discovered… Everything we've worked for will be for naught!"

"We need him—"

"He is of no use to anyone in this condition." A sigh; "Look at him, he can't even hold his own head up… We don't know what kind of poison it was and all trace I would have been able to collect bled out of him or was washed away by the rain."

"I am not going to leave him to die—"

"It's not enough to be fatal or else he would be quite dead by now… They most likely wanted to slow us down, play on our sympathy and hope to catch us all because of him. We cannot afford to fail at this."

The chest beneath his ear heaved a deep sigh; "Ezio… Nipote—Please, if you can hear me at all, please be silent."

Everything fades back for a while and when next he surfaces everything feels clearer, his head not so loose on his shoulders. His side and middle ache fiercely and something cool and damp is resting across his eyes and brow.

It takes him a moment but he's able to remember his own name now, so that's a start in the right direction. And when he hears motion near him and hands gently lift his left arm away from his belly and pull back the coverlet he recognizes them.

They're too large to be Leonardo's, too large to be a woman's so that rules out Paola.

His voice cracks when he tries to speak, his mouth and throat feel so very dry.

The older man hums in acknowledgement and lifts the cool cloth to peer beneath it. "Are you there, Ezio?"

He nods, his voice spent for the moment, and tries to swallow to draw moisture between his lips again. It doesn't go exactly as planned and he winds up coughing, clutching his stomach to add counter pressure to the wound that feels as if it's going to split him open completely.

Mario covers his eyes again and his hands are somehow gentle, pulling until Ezio has settled and uncovered his injury. "You've been gone three days now… Can you hold down some water?"

He nods and lets himself be levered up with an arm beneath his shoulders, and as soon as the liquid touches his tongue he's gulping it down greedily, relieved as it cools his insides and shakes a little more fog from his mind.

"You're recovering, that is good… Very good. You would have rejected this just yesterday." Those big hands are pressing lightly across his stomach and side, checking for tenderness, and rigidity of the wound. If the surrounding area was too firm it would mean infection, too soft and it would mean the blade had gone in too deep.

"The dottore said it slid along your ribs here and missed your vitals."

He grunted but didn't otherwise reply. His effort was focused on staying awake at the moment.

"I have to leave you tomorrow… You're only three days from Venezia… Can you make it on your own?"

A jolt went through him and he found the strength to lift a hand and shove the cloth away from his eyes. Blinking stupidly up at his uncle. "Three days… w—we were nearly to Roma… Have I been gone that long? What happened with—"

Mario was scowling; "He slipped away in the night… They are following him. I received a letter last evening and must leave in the morning to rejoin them… YOU—" He said with an air of finality; "Are to go back and heal… The wound may not have been dire, but the poison nearly killed you. I will send word when we are in need of you."

Ezio wanted to argue, his pride bade him to shout and lay a finger in his uncle's face, but he simply didn't have the strength to defend himself if Mario decided to argue back.

"You are no use to anyone in this condition… And the things you were saying! I had to bind your jaw to silence you!"

Ezio felt a chill enter his limbs and his eyes widened. "I was speaking?"

"Yes—"

"W-what did I say?"

"Things that could get you hanged in other company…"

Color rose to his cheeks for the first time in days.

Mario's brows drew down further and his voice came out low in his throat; "You professed your love a few times… to a man. Then damned your impotence… Is there something that vexes you, Ezio? Perhaps you would like to speak of it at length?"

Ezio shook his head quickly, trying to shrink back against the mattress in his humiliation.

"I—I can understand in some way… And I—I will advise you on something. Something I learned too late."

"Fear of the thing increases its power over you… If you do not fear it, it can never control you, no matter what."

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Ezio couldn't get out of bed the next morning. His legs wouldn't hold his weight, and every time he lifted his head his vision swam and his stomach lurched.

It was quite plain to see he was not well enough to travel, especially not alone, but Mario had to leave anyway. There was no choice.

He rested as long as he dared, waking after noon and trying again to get himself out of bed. He managed to sit with his feet dangling toward the floor, but could force himself no farther.

He slept like the dead after that, curled beneath the blankets with his knees drawn up. He slept and he dreamed of Leonardo.

Dreamed of the artist's lean body, warm and firm, the proud jut of his sex sinking slowly, carefully inward. A sense of fullness, underlined lightly by pain—but somehow the pain of it was pleasurable… Like that thin knife's edge of sensation before release. He hung there for an eternity it seemed, the two of them joined, his body trembling but it wasn't enough. Oh, God, no matter how he willed it, or shifted his body or begged Leonardo to move faster—harder, it wasn't enough and he woke with a start. Drenched in sweat beneath his covers, arms up over his head scratching and pulling at his pillow, his legs spread wide, toes curling into the sheets, a painful, unforgivable heat between his thighs.

He jerked his hands beneath the blankets, out of the icy chill of the room, staring upward at the black ceiling, teeth chattering, his nose feeling cold because there was no fire in the room, the one Mario had built before he'd left was long ago burned out, and the only heat in the room was in Ezio's loins, begging, pleading—demanding attention.

The laces of his trousers were loose and came apart easily, and his hands felt cold and foreign on his length, the muscles in his arms aching in protest of so much vigorous movement when they had been reduced to such a weakened state.

His eyes fluttered shut and his left hand slid down, sinking into the cleft of his body, one finger finding that place the blonde had tortured so exquisitely before and rubbing with a feverish urgency.

He lost himself to it, lips parted and breath gasping, and before he could think about it, before his mind had time to hone in on unpleasant thoughts his fingers were pushing in and his muscles tightened at the abrupt friction.

His side cried its protest but he couldn't stop. Nothing else mattered, his mind still on some level asleep and needing the release his dream denied him.

His fingers curled upward searching, searching and finding that firm lump of tissue and assaulting it without mercy.

Silvery specks danced before his eyes and he feared he might faint from how quickly his heart was thundering, and how he seemed unable to draw breath fast, or deep enough.

He didn't last long. A slick twist of his hand against his tip and a hard shove upward with his fingers and he was done, whimpering and panting and sweaty beneath his blankets. He felt as if he was barely clinging to his life and his vision swam, darkness enveloping the thin strips of moonlight coming in through shuttered windows.

He woke the next morning with his breeches kicked off beneath the blankets and a dried mess smeared over his belly, privates and the side of his face where he'd brought his hand up under his cheek after he'd returned to dreaming.

He felt disgusting, sticky and the dried remains of his pleasure stuck in the crinkly dark hair down there and pulled every time he moved… On top of that the scratched and bruised side of his face was now itchy and irritated because of his soiled palm.

And when he forced himself to sit up and push the blankets back he was horrified by the dark smears of blood on his shirt and the bed beneath him where he'd irritated his wound during his activities.

He made it to his feet, pulling the front of his shirt down over his genitals in feigned modesty to the empty room as he fished his trousers out from between the quilts, then stumbled almost drunkenly to the hearth.

The floor felt frozen beneath his feet and against his still fevered flesh, but he found the kettle anyway, barely having the strength to lift it off its hook and tip some into his hand to rinse away the mess.

The room was practically in shambles. No decoration, very few amenities save the kettle a small chair and table, on which were rather hastily stacked strips of cloth for bandaging, a lamp and a satchel Ezio found had some stale bread and a few pieces of dried meat in it.

He had to sit before his legs gave out, and cleaned himself thoroughly with a strip of cloth and that cold water before he pulled his pants back on.

Rebandaging himself proved difficult but he managed it, feeling queasy and light headed at the sight of the wound.

Roughly 'Y' shaped starting beneath his left arm and slanting toward his belly, it appeared shallow where the knife had first struck, but deepened as it moved toward his stomach. It was heavily bruised and some of the fine little stitches holding it closed had torn free. It still oozed sluggishly, but the redness of the flesh around it seemed less worrisome as he imagined it had been before. Some of the bruising was fading as well, turned yellowish against his skin.

He searched through his bags, stacked in the corner and found the change of clothes he kept there, civilian's clothes… But no matter where he looked, he couldn't find his robes anywhere— That is until he looked into the fire grate and saw a charred, but familiar scrap of cloth…

He felt like he'd been stabbed all over again. A hard, unforgiving jolt to the bottom of his stomach and all the strength went out of his limbs.

In his head he was screaming at the injustice of it. That he should have been more careful, that he should have paid better attention, been more diligent and this wouldn't have happened.

It felt like losing his father all over again.

Ezio dropped onto the edge of the bed, one hand on his side, the other bracing himself up, and cried out his apologies, his fears and more apologies that he'd found himself in this predicament.

What would his father think that he'd failed at something so simple? What would his father think of his attraction to Leonardo? What would he think of his son lying back and letting another man dominate him?

"I've ruined everything… I've disgraced your memory… I-I've made such a mess of things."

He rubbed his eyes dry on his sleeve and forced himself up, legs shaking from the strain, and went to the hearth, teeth ground together on a whimper as he bent and picked up the ruined scrap of fabric. Brittle and blackened at the edges, but still soft in the middle.

He stumbled back to the bed and huddled there with the last shred of the past he possessed and closed his hands around it as the darkness took him again.

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_I haven't played all of AC2 (Hubby returned it to the rental store before I was finished) so I don't really know what happened to Giovanni's robes, but I have a feeling it was something like that… They got torn or ruined and had to be destroyed. I think Mario wouldn't have seen them as important as Ezio would have. It probably would hurt him more to discover how badly it hurt Ezio than getting rid of them alone would have._

_But, sooner or later we have to let go of the past and worry about the future. I think Ezio needed to learn that earlier._

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	5. Part 5

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**Unfortunate; Part 5**

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He wants to tell himself that he's doing well. Wants to, but can't. Not without lying to himself, and that really isn't an option anymore. He's so tired of lies and disguises he can't even lie to himself anymore.

His horse is in a stall in the tiny little stable adjacent to the house where he's been… he thinks the word is 'resting' but it doesn't feel like rest when he's more tired than ever.

He'd managed, that morning, to rouse himself and eat something. It wasn't much but his stomach thanked him for it. He dressed slowly, carefully, using the stained shirt he'd woken in as extra padding over his bandages. A clean shirt, his long white blouse and frock… but no surcoat.

He tucked the charred little patch of fabric into his pocket and pulled on his cloak to ward off the chill.

His boots were the hardest part, having to pull his leg up into his lap and tug them on, then fasten the buckles. He wanted to lie down afterward, but made himself stand and wobble to the door and outside for the first time in days.

He wasn't exactly sure where he was. Some little obscure town. The fields had already been cleared of their crops and a few people walking past on the road stared at him curiously… A few young boys waved at him.

He waved back.

The town seemed to be peaceful. Quaint.

A young woman and her husband called out a greeting to him as he sat outside in the patchy sunlight soaking in its warmth.

Wife called out that she was glad to see him up and about, his father had seemed so worried—

Ezio's stomach tightened up and his eyes widened. "My father?"

Husband and wife nodded in unison. The young man lifted his voice; "He asked that we should check on you. To make sure you hadn't died." He chuckled.

Ezio felt his tension leave in a whoosh and he leaned back against the cold stone wall of the house.

Mario…

"He said you'd caught fever on your journey." Wife said, propping her hands on her hips. "If you're still afflicted you should be in bed."

Ezio shielded his eyes from the sun as it decided to rear its head through the cloud cover; "I'm feeling a little better."

Husband nodded and said that he would send his younger brother Emilio over later to feed and water his horse for him again.

Ezio thanked him and waved as the couple walked away.

The sun felt good, despite the chill of the wind, and he sat there for a while, letting his senses fade into the world, aware of everything, but still resting, conserving his energy.

True to Husband's words Emilio, a boy between ten and thirteen, came over a few hours later. He loped into the yard singing quietly and gave Ezio a nod as he let himself into the little stable. He fetched water from the well for Ezio's horse and brushed the steed down, speaking to it in an infantile voice, cooing that it was such a good and strong horse. Then climbed into the small loft and fetched down some hay and a handful of dried grains.

Ezio managed to lift himself to his feet, a hand on his wound and he stood there for a moment contemplating the short distance to the stable. If he attempted it and his legs gave out he would fall into the mud… Emilio would probably help him up again if he was asked nicely.

Should he risk showing exactly how weak he'd become because of this, or should he just go back inside.

He let his breath out in a whoosh and started forward, one hand on the building wall to keep him steady as he maneuvered one foot in front of the other and made it—without incident—to the stable.

Emilio was sitting perched on the rail beside Ezio's horse, chattering away quietly, innocently and sharing a sliced apple with the steed. He looked up when Ezio's shadow darkened the doorway with wide dark eyes. "Oh," He said and hopped down, offering an apology. He gave a quick report of everything he'd done for the horse and took his leave when Ezio nodded gratefully to him.

The horse seemed glad to see him. Fuzzy velvet lips flapping against his wrist as Ezio lifted a hand to stroke its neck. When the steed lowered its nose and nudged gently at his wounded side he held still and allowed it. Some horses became skittish around the scent of blood, he was glad to see this one did not. He did however push the animal's head away when it tried to chew on his hair.

Glad that the horse was well looked after, his legs beginning to feel tired and loose, Ezio turned and made his way back inside.

It rained the next day, so Ezio stayed in bed most of the time, only leaving it to push another bit of wood on the fire or begin to slowly pack his things away. While he was up sitting at the table watching through a crack in the shutters, Emilio returned, running into the yard and disappearing into the stable. Ezio watched him but didn't make his presence known, as the boy went about his chore then left just as quickly.

He knew the boy didn't mean any harm, neither did Wife and Husband, but their awareness of his presence was still unnerving, even if they believed he was only recovering from a fever. It was still strange that any 'father' would leave his sick son alone in a strange village and sooner or later someone would start asking questions… if they hadn't already.

By that evening all his things were packed and blessedly the rain had stopped. He dressed in as many layers as he could and—hoping the owner of the house wouldn't miss it too terribly—he bundled a quilt around himself beneath his cloak and set off.

Getting the saddle back on his horse had very nearly been his undoing and after he'd gotten it on, buckled and tightened, he had to lean heavily against the wall of the stall to catch his breath and wait until silvery specks no longer danced behind his eyes.

Bags in place, saddle on, Ezio's last challenge was mounting the damned thing. He tried three times before he realized that he just didn't possess the strength to pull himself up, and every time he did pulled agonizingly at his wound.

It was a providence really that the horse seemed so well trained and compliant… Perhaps it had been a woman's horse before coming into Assassins' hands. Then again, perhaps the thing was tired of standing around and decided it was going to take a nap.

Whatever the reason, Ezio was sullenly grateful for it because the horse slowly eased itself to lie on the ground with its legs curled and tucked neatly beside it.

If Mario could only see him now, he sighed defeated, and threw a leg over the horse's back. No sooner had his behind touched the saddle than the horse was up again with a soft snort and a toss of its head.

Despite the stab of pain it shot up and down his side, Ezio managed to hang on, and a moment later was on his way. Quilt and cloak bundled tightly around himself, hood up, mind set.

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Traveling wasn't nearly as painful as he'd feared it would be. After a mile or so the jostle and ache in his side settled into a dull throb and he was able to push the sensation aside and focus on his journey.

By morning he was nearing the next village and his vision was swimming again. He peered beneath his cloak and pulled the quilt away long enough to check the state of his shirt. Relieved when there was no sign of blood visible above the bandaging.

The market was sluggish in the chill, but he was able to find something his stomach could tolerate and mill about for a while listening to conversations. There wasn't much to learn. This woman had a crick in her back, this daughter had a fine new suitor. This one's sons were going south toward Roma for work. That one's sister was expecting a child.

He'd come to understand that if you wanted to know something you listened to women talk. Men sometimes let things slip in their casual conversations, but it was with a sick sense of glee that he'd realized what an unfathomable well of information a town's female population was.

There were only two or three courtesans in this particular town, and none of them wore the sigil of the order or any sign that they knew anything of the clandestine struggle between Templars and Assassins, so he didn't bother asking them if they had an idea of where he could safely rest and recover.

They waved seductively at him and he nodded politely back but didn't stop.

The next town wasn't too far away and if memory served him, there was a small outpost there where he would be quite welcome and could send word to his uncle of his condition… and send word to Leonardo as well.

Time though, did not seem to be on his side, four miles from the small city where he was sure he would find refuge, it began to rain again. A cold, icy drenching rain.

Ezio pushed on through it though, and made it to the city gate, head lowered because the guards there were not normal city guards… not by any means.

He was bade by the four heavily armed men to leave his horse at the city livery, and continue on foot. That civilians were not permitted horses within the city limits.

Ezio thought it was madness, but did as they said. He was in no condition to argue. Hefting his bags all that way though, was another matter.

There was only one young thief at the outpost. He nodded and allowed Ezio entrance when the password was given and proper identification made.

Ezio put his bags near the fire and leaned a hand heavily on the mantle swaying unsteadily on his feet, plucking with numb fingers at his cloak and the quilt he'd wrapped himself in.

He was soaked through and shivering by the time he'd divested himself of the encumbering garments and when the boy behind him made a startled noise he glanced down and noticed the dark creeping stain spreading across his blouse.

He felt light headed by the sheer size of the stain but managed to stay upright, nails scratching against the stone, knees turned to jelly.

The boy wasn't knowledgeable in treating wounds, but managed—after a mad search—to find the trunk hidden away that contained bandaging, ointments and the like.

The only thing the boy seemed to be good at was washing clothes, and Ezio had a suspicion that it was most likely because the child's mother had been a washerwoman. How the boy managed to scrub out the bloodstains on his clothes Ezio would never know. He made himself eat a bit of bread and some cheese, and prostrated himself across the lumpy sagging bed in the corner and slept.

He woke late the next day to the boy prodding him awake. "Assassino… do you live?"

Ezio pried one eye open and squinted out, he grunted and closed his eye again.

The boy shook him harder this time; "You have to eat something… Your stomach is roaring… You'll never regain your strength if you do not eat!"

Ezio smirked to himself, how very much like Leonardo that boy sounded. After a moment or two he pushed himself up and took some of the cheese the boy offered, as well as a few pieces of a late season apple and a long drink.

He shared some of the dried meat he had left and chuckled when the boy devoured it ravenously, gnawing on it with his jaw teeth before jerking his head to tear off a bite. Watching the child's antics woke a little more of his appetite and he ate a few pieces himself.

He took some of the medical supplies. A jar of ointment and bandages, and a wedge of that cheese… It sat well on his stomach. Then, with the boy's help, managed to carry his things back to the gate and retrieve his horse.

The next leg of his journey would be an arduous one. There was only one more small town between himself and Venezia… And more than fifty miles of nothing. If his wound should sap his strength after this point, if he would happen to topple from his horse or meet resistance from some unknown foe, he wouldn't stand much of a chance.

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A day of traveling slowly in the rain left him feverish again and he risked discovery to hide away in an abandoned shed in the next town, building a small fire in the tiny drafty hearth and bundling himself close to it, his clothes spread out around him to dry, dressed only in his breeches and bandages, lying on a sheet he'd found. He rolled his sash and held it between his teeth, sweat beading on his brow and in the firelight, cleaned the wound as best he could, daubed ointment onto it and bandaged himself tightly.

That night and most of the next morning passed in a series of brief moments. Flashes of lucidity as exhaustion and illness ate at him. It seemed to be a blessing in disguise though, because that evening while he slept, a group of Templars marched through the town on their way south. Ezio didn't realize until the next morning that if he had pushed himself through the rain he quite possibly could have run upon the group and been killed.

He felt stronger when he left the town, his purse lighter, but his pack heavier and his body stronger for the rest.

He sent word to his uncle, a coded message copied six times and sent to every village between where Mario had left him and the city where the target was headed. Mario would receive it, or he would not.

Ezio faced the fifty mile expanse between himself and Vinezia and took a calming breath before he struck out.

His side protested but he pushed onward in spite of it, stopping every so often to walk for a while and give his horse a rest, sharing slices of dried fruit he'd bought with it in thanks.

He managed only eight miles the first day, and decided to stop for the night when he came across a sheltered overhang of rock in which there were signs of fires being built by travelers. He built a small one for himself, to stay warm, and huddled beneath his blanket, staring up at the stars shining brightly overhead.

He imagined what Leonardo would say about the stars. Would he tell tales about the constellations? Would he sing softly to himself, or strum on his lute thoughtfully.

Ezio imagined him lying there close, smiling with his arms folded under his head, waxing poetic about how immense the universe was. How he wondered if perhaps there may be another world somewhere, someone else far away, staring up at the same sky and experiencing similar awe at its vastness.

A hollow ache filled his chest and he folded his hands on his chest, feeling acutely aware of the night's chill without the artist so near.

He lay awake for a few hours more the ache in his body settling lower until the awareness of his loneliness became nearly unbearable.

What was Leonardo doing at that moment?

Had he missed him?

Was it possible he was lying awake as well thinking of him?

Ezio stared up at the night sky and stretched out his senses, imagining he could feel Leonardo doing the same from so very far away. Imagined he could feel the blonde close. Warm, strong hands on his body… The scruff of his chin on Ezio's own.

He fell asleep gently rubbing at the lump in his trousers, but too tired to fully take advantage of it.

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He was barely twenty miles, a single good day's travel from Vinezia when his sanity seemed to break. His wound had not troubled him too much, an ache, and soiled bandages, but the fever he still worried burned low in his veins had not decided to spike again… yet.

He'd done nothing but think of Leonardo with every waking moment. Praying the artist wasn't too terribly upset that he was injured. Praying the blonde would just smile at him, would wrap his deceptively strong arms around him and provide his warmth against Ezio's body while he slept and let his body heal from its ordeal.

He promised himself that this time he wouldn't hesitate. He'd wrap his arms around Leonardo and kiss him. Deeply, with everything he had.

He imagined what the blonde would taste like, would he let Ezio do that? Put his mouth on him? W-would he do that to Ezio if he asked nicely?

Ezio squirmed back against his makeshift bed, and tried desperately to ignore the increasingly intimate mental images that kept flashing behind his eyes. The urges—the NEED.

Lying there beside the small fire he'd built for warmth, aching… The need burning in his veins, Ezio's sanity finally snapped. He reached for his bag, finding the rolled cloth Leonardo had presented him with, along with what the artist had said should ease his anxieties stuffed down at the very bottom, seemingly forgotten.

He found he was shivering as he rolled carefully onto his back, wound offering only a slight protest as he laid there for a moment staring upward at the trees looming overhead the night sky a brilliant background against the blackness of branches. His hands seemed to work independently from his mind, unlacing his trousers and pushing them downward. His side gave a sharp twinge and he winced, but didn't stop, easing his trousers down farther, knees bent skyward. The air felt cold against his legs and privates, and his fingers even more so as he unrolled his tools on his stomach, below the bandaging beneath the blanket. The salve was first, shaking fingers finding his own opening, circling as his eyes fell shut. He remembered what the blonde had told him, to push some into himself as well so when he was breached the lubrication wouldn't just be worked off at his opening.

He didn't even need to touch his pene, it came alive on its own, hot and hard against his belly as he worked his fingers below. The angle was awkward and soon his wound was throbbing viciously but he was desperate. He wanted it… Wanted it so badly.

His hands found his prize, rubbing the polished wood thoroughly with the slick salve and pressing it firmly against his inner thigh, just for a moment, imagining Leonardo bending over him. A warm soft bed beneath him instead of the cold ground, life, heat, flesh instead of this wooden toy.

He was shivering violently now, teeth chattering, sweat beginning to bead on his face and chest.

The tool felt cold against him as he pressed the rounded tip to his opening, shifting his legs farther apart and pressing downward with his heels just enough to ease the angle. Heart hammering in his chest, body trembling in anxiety…

He pressed.

His body didn't seem to want to give. Tightening, stinging when he tried to force it in anyway and he whined. God… He couldn't even do this to himself, how did he expect to let Leonardo do it?

His memories strayed back, weeks, maybe even months ago, the girl at Teodora's…

"I've done this before… Why am I so frightened? I've done this before and it felt wonderful." He inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly, focusing on his body, on the knowledge that he _had_ done this before, it had felt good, there was no reason to fear it any longer…

He pressed slowly inward… And his body gave.

He tightened momentarily, out of the shock that he'd actually just breached himself with something that was only slightly smaller than Leonardo. Grinding his teeth he gave himself a mental shake and relaxed again, slowly, carefully nudging the tool deeper.

It still stung, but not nearly as bad as when he and Leonardo had tried this. This was bearable… This—This felt good… Not great, but good enough that he felt confident he could continue.

He felt the little flared ridge the blonde had carved halfway down on the shaft slip into him. Rubbing against that spot within him that Leonardo had tortured so exquisitely. Hesitantly, he rocked the toy in and out of himself a little, letting the ridge rub back and forth against it.

He pushed farther, feeling it ease deeper and deeper into his body until he felt his own fingers and the flared grip against his entrance. Experimentally he touched himself where he was stretched around the wooden phallus. Surprised, awed and a little frightened that the whole thing was seated in there. In such an intimate place.

His hands shook, and his throat felt so dry from breathing through his mouth. But he laid there for a few moments, just feeling where he was filled. Relishing in the stretch and the itch of need still alight within him.

He moved unsurely, pulling and pushing in small thrusting motions, tilting it within him to rub against his walls.

His left hand curled around his shaft, chilled, and slick. His hips rocked gently, imagination conjuring up the form of Leonardo hovering above him, pressed deeply into him. He barely felt the pull of his injury anymore, there was only what he was doing to himself.

"Oh, god…" He withdrew a little farther, plunged in a little faster. Unaware of the sounds he was making, knowing only that he was so open, so filled and so relaxed.

He worked himself slowly, wanting to savor every moment of it, knowing that the blonde would be slow, gentle, would make his pleasure climb higher than the tallest tower, it would build up and up and up, steady, subtle, like the breath thin layers of color on those paintings.

His body seemed to follow the motions of his hands, rising and falling, arching to meet each self-imposed thrust, broken apart within it and made new.

He cried out, release seeming to just crash upon him unexpectedly, thundering through him in waves. Wet jets into his fingers while he could feel each spasm through his right fist, could feel it all played out so perfectly. It was almost frightening how intense the feeling was, how his whole body followed the motions, the tingle and simple, brutal pleasure of it fanning out into every nerve and muscle.

It had happened so suddenly, he didn't even have the sense to stroke himself through it, or to move the toy with each spasm, he was lost to it, immobile while his body shook and blazed and released.

He lay there for a long, long while panting, feeling the cold night air on his face, and only after he'd caught his breath did he consciously realize how desperately he wished that Leonardo had, in fact been there instead of his own hand and a lifeless wooden tool.

His side offered a thunderous protest and he pried his eyes open, blinking dazedly outward…

And noticed three men standing in his camp with swords drawn.

Fear was a hard cold stone in his belly, and with a startled, violated cry he rolled, pulling at his pants as he struggled to his feet.

He'd barely made it to his feet before he was tackled. Chest bruising against stones and fallen sticks, his side felt as if it had been split wide open and he felt a hot sheet of blood spilling across his waist.

His heart thudded in his chest, all the pleasure he'd just experienced washed away by the stark knowledge that what he'd done had been witnessed.

"BIND HIM!"

Ezio turned his head, twisting and trying to fight the older, larger man off, snarling and clawing. Kicking with every bit of strength he had in an effort to free himself.

Horrible images flashed through his head. Were these men going to hurt him? Were they going to brutalize him? R-rape him?

And then he saw the rope… And he knew.

These men weren't going to violate him… They were going to kill him.

Strangely enough they didn't seem to care about what he'd been doing to himself. No, these men were after something else— struggling to subdue him. The older of the three men grabbed him by the chin and called him by name. Grinning with crooked yellow teeth and insulting his father.

And the third man… the third was tying a hasty noose.

Fear was such a pale word.

Memory of his father and brothers flashed in his mind, the ugly rending snap of their necks. He remembered after he'd gotten away he'd been violently ill. And now, here he was, about to be hanged himself.

He fought, screamed, shouted. Twisted, snapped his teeth, everything he could think of to try and escape but his hands had been bound behind his back and he'd taken the blade off before he'd lain down to sleep. _Never again—_He told himself. _I'll never do that again._

The three brutes were laughing, and suddenly the rude, half formed noose was shoved over his head, the rough fibers cutting his cheeks and scratching at his eyes.

He didn't have time to scream again, his next breath was sealed in his throat as the rope was roughly yanked, the knot tangling his loose hair, and he was hauled bodily to his feet by his throat.

He was screaming in his head_, Wake up, please, Dio Mio! Please wake up! This can't be happening!_

Then he was dangling. Swinging back and forth like a pendulum and he couldn't breathe, the rope was crushing his throat, trapping all the blood in his head, it roared in his ears along with the three men's laughter. His eyes felt like they were swelling, even as he squeezed them tightly shut. Twisting and writhing, trying to somehow get away or slip his head from the loop.

Please, please!

His right ear erupted in a sharp stab of pain, and he felt something cold running from his nose.

Everything was fading and he felt his struggles growing weaker…

The laughing had stopped and there were faint, muffled shouts and he was dimly aware of his horse making a horrible racket.

Distant shouts…

He heard ringing… A sharp shrill noise like a damp finger run around and around and around the rim of a wine glass. He felt weightless. Dark, dim…

Something cold against his cheek, a far away feeling of tearing at the nape of his neck and back of his head… He imagined it being what that ugly pop of breaking bone felt like, and then he was floating.

Somewhere far away a ghost whispered his name.

_"Ezio… Ezio open your eyes. Damnit, you little fool! You're not meant to end like this!" _

Something stung his cheek, but he felt too numb to really know what it was. So he just relaxed back into the darkness and whispered an apology to nobody, and everybody at once.

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	6. Part 6

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**Unfortunate; Part Six**

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He became aware of pain before anything else. And just an instant after that he realized he couldn't breathe. He was drowning.

"Lie still!"

He writhed, fighting to open his eyes, but something had been tied around his head, blacking out his sight.

"LIE _STILL!_ Your hair is caught in the knot I can't—STOP MOVING! If you wish to live to see the sunrise you'll stop fighting me!"

He could practically smell the blade in the strange man's hand as it lowered, hot and sharp and bearing the subtle scent of iron and blood.

He felt the blade sliding against the side of his throat, beneath the rope and his whole body jerked into a convulsion as he fought desperately for air, arms trapped beneath him where they were tied, his bare feet digging helplessly into the ground as he twisted. He'd killed men like this! Slashed his blade across their throats and watched the life bleed out of them— His mouth opened, unable to draw air, everything fading and the person above him cursed loudly—vilely and the knife made a harsh slashing motion.

His whole body arched, following the motion as it was quickly withdrawn, hands clawing desperately into the dirt beneath him, pleadingly as rough fingers gripped his jaw and tilted his head back—

_AIR!_

"STOP MOVING!" and then hissed as the person's second hand went to his side; "FUCK! You bleed like a stuck pig!"

He didn't even realize his gasped painful breaths were coming out in desperate sobs, or that the blood from his nose was frothing in his mouth every time he inhaled or exhaled, he was overwhelmed, terrified. He didn't understand what was going on, or what had just happened.

"There, you're alright. You'll be alright, calm down." And a hand found his, head, petting gently over his brow, rubbing his cheek, wet and sticky with blood. "Don't try to move or speak… For now just enjoy breathing… If I'd been a minute more you'd have found yourself quite dead." Then almost as an afterthought. "You scream like a woman."

The man's other hand eased under his head again, once his gasping had slowed, lifting enough to wedge something beneath it.

His neck felt broken. The muscles ruined, almost as if his head were going to pop off and roll away. His skull felt lighter than usual and he nearly fainted as he was moved.

"Shhhhh, just breathe, don't worry about anything else…"

Cloth was pressed to either side of his head wrapped around his neck. Then whatever had been put under his head was shifted, and more cloth, almost as if to tie him to whatever was there to keep him still.

"I'm preparing you to be moved… just lie there quietly."

He tried to speak, choked and found himself pinned as he started thrashing weakly.

"Do not _move!_ You've been hanged! Do you understand? You could have, and could very well still die! So stop trying to fight me or I'll leave you here to do just that!"

He wasn't sure when he'd started shivering. Only that his mind was slipping, and he felt like he was drowning again. There seemed to be nothing but cold, stark panic.

His arms were cut free and maneuvered to each side of his chest, and yet more cloth was pressed over his stomach, held down firmly by strong hands and something wrapped tightly around him to hold it all still. A blanket was wrapped around him after that, to ward off the chill in his shock. Maybe a burial bag, he didn't know, he was suddenly too afraid to move.

Maybe his neck _was_ broken, but by some miracle he was still alive, and if he didn't move perhaps the bone would heal and he would be alright. Yes, that had to be it. He just had to lie completely still.

"Don't stop breathing now, you've survived this long, it won't be as bad to survive a while more."

The man moved around, boots scuffing against the forest floor. He whispered to himself in strange languages.

Ezio lie there listening, taking stock of his situation, forcing the panic down.

He'd been hanged by three brutish ugly men who knew his name… Who had insulted his father's name— He remembered darkness, maybe even death, but now here he was… Wherever here was, and this man had saved him just seconds from death—

His head swam at the mere thought.

He'd been hanged…

Somewhere out in the world he heard a dull sound, like something heavy and lifeless being dragged across the earth followed by a grunt of effort.

A little while later the noise came again.

His thoughts drifted, muffled and hazy. It could have been hours, or barely seconds, but the voice returned.

"Ezio, do you still live?"

A hand ghosted over his brow, then; "You don't smell dead yet… I was able to end two of them, but the third escaped—I apologize in advance for this, but you must be moved quickly before that Bastardo returns with help from his comrades. It will be mostly unpleasant, just—Just focus on breathing."

A few seconds later he felt strong arms slipping beneath his shoulders and legs and the blood drained suddenly from his head.

He must have fainted because when next he was aware of his surroundings he was being roughly jostled by a horse in full gallop and his side, his head and his neck roared in return. His whole front felt wet and he didn't even have the strength to scream in his pain, there was only breathing and the thud of the horses hooves beneath him, the solid press of the stranger's chest to his back, holding him tightly in place with one arm while the other held the horse's reigns in one fist.

He forced his eyes open and everything was dim and gray around him, the eastern sky glowing pink and vague with the approaching dawn, and before him, on the horizon he saw Vinezia growing closer.

His eyes watered and he glanced upward, instantly recognizing those strange eyes beneath a brown hood… A hood which slid back revealing a head of curling brown hair pulled back into a long tail that whipped in the wind.

He tried to speak, tried to ask what had happened. Where was Mario? Had the target been taken care of?

As if sensing his gaze those eyes flicked to him in acknowledgement and he spoke directly into Ezio's ear to be heard over the thunder of hoof beats and the rush of wind in his face.

"Your note was intercepted the Templars have broken our code… They came after you, knowing you were injured. Mario sent me to find you first—I almost did not. They were many and very quick. Those three slipped past me in the darkness, I—I'm sorry I was not faster."

Ezio let his eyes close and his head lean a little heavier against La Volpe's shoulder, his senses fading out as his strength finally failed him.

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It was dawn and Leonardo had been awake most of the night with a fire going in his workshop trying to get the painting due in only a few hours that he had only just finished the night before, to dry quickly enough to be transported.

He was exhausted, disheveled and barely clinging to awareness where he was sat in his kitchen drinking the last in a bottle of wine he'd uncorked while he'd watched the paint dry.

He'd finish his wine and have a quick nap, then be awake enough to present his client with the painting.

Simple.

If only he had the strength to make it up the steps to his room, but every time he sat foot in there now he pictured Ezio lying naked on his bed, the pale scarred expanse of his back bared, the globes of his buttocks firm and spread between Leonardo's hands—

God, but he was a mess…

Every night he tried to sleep he found himself lying awake thinking of Ezio, the listlessness drove him to distraction. The only relief he found was forcing himself into activities, watching the cat that had taken up residence in his cellar. Climbing onto the roof to sketch the clouds and the people below on the street or catching people in the market and making quick lines of them. The crook in this woman's nose, the wrinkles in the corner of this man's eye… The lightning bolt pattern of this young child's iris, such a vivid unearthly shade of green—like fresh basil and mint!

The delicate curvatures of plants and colorful autumn leaves…

There was a sharp BANG! On the door behind him and Leonardo jumped in alarm, wine dribbling from between his lips as he fought not to spit it everywhere and disgrace the winemakers and their hundred-year-old vines. He wiped the wasted drops from his chin with the pad of one thumb and licked it away, then turned with wide, alert eyes to the darkened garden. He caught hold of his lamp and took it with him, cracking the door open and peering out, the lamp illuminating a hunched shape in the darkness.

"Who goes there?"

The stranger growled like a feral dog and sagged under the weight of his burden, letting the light fall at a slant across the pale slack face of the young man cradled in his arms.

Leonardo nearly dropped the lamp in his haste to open the door, shoving it open and stepping backward to allow the stranger inside, even as he wanted nothing more than to reach forward and grab.

Ezio's throat was ringed with a dark, bloody bruise, his collar stained and his face flushed but for bruising beginning on his cheeks from burst blood vessels.

Leonardo clapped a hand to his mouth, staring in horror as the man in the brown cloak stepped to the table and laid Ezio's body out across it. He could only see the blood on his shirt, and that ugly band around his neck. He was no fool, he had dissected his share of corpses that had met such an end. Hanging victims all displayed the same look. Faces purpled from the blood vessels burst by the pressure, eyes red and bloody, blood from the ears and nose, tongues swollen and protruding, lips purple and split… That black gory band around their throats from the rope—

Leonardo, in that instant, felt his whole world collapse.

His knees gave out and he dropped heavily to sit on the floor, eyes wide but sightless, all thought evaporated.

Ezio—oh, Ezio…

The man in brown was moving quickly, pulling open Ezio's blouse and working at a stained, makeshift bandage tied around him. "The stitches were torn out when he fell— They'll have to be redone. His throat is beginning to swell, if we don't ease it he'll choke to death—"

Leonardo didn't move until the man in brown disappeared into the wash room and came back with a pail of cold water and a cloth, dabbing wetly at the contusion circling Ezio's throat.

The Fox explained slowly what had happened, the incident where Ezio was stabbed, the poison on the blade, his resulting illness. He explained how Mario, Paola and himself had been forced to leave Ezio to intercept their target, and about the note that had been stolen and decoded. He swallowed, his voice strained now, and said that he blamed himself for this, for not being more vigilant and letting those three men past him.

Leonardo took it all in silently and nodded when it was appropriate.

God but this was a mess.

When the other man pulled open Ezio's shirt and exposed his wound Leonardo felt his lips compress and for half an instant he didn't know what to do. The wound looked like it had been well on its way to healing, the stitches had held fast… until the blow that had knocked Ezio flat onto his stomach… The healing flesh had simply parted and the stitches had torn through leaving a jagged tattered rent in Ezio's side.

He worked carefully, cleaning it with strong spirits and despite his anxiety his hands did not shake as he made careful rows of tiny stitches to hold it closed. La Volpe applied some herb or another to Ezio's throat, lightly binding it, with the loose end of the linin tucked under, so should he continue to swell, his breathing wouldn't be constricted unnecessarily.

The sun was hanging in the sky nearly to noon by the time they had finished, and Leonardo had to rush up to his room and change clothing in time to greet his patron and showcase the painting.

He practically shoved the man out the door with it and rushed back to the kitchen to help the Fox move Ezio up to the bedroom.

The only protest Ezio made was to scrunch his face.

The Fox left shortly after that with another apology and passed a note to the artist from Mario then seemed to simply disappear out into the street.

Leonardo read the note, a request that he look after Ezio as well as the name of a trustworthy surgeon should such a thing be required, Leonardo hoped that one was not and shut up his workshop, hefting a pail of water with him as he ascended the stairs to Ezio's side once more.

The next three days passed by partly in excruciating slowness, and partly in unbearable swiftness.

Ezio's body burned the first night, and his breathing was reduced to quick uneven gasps through his parched, swollen throat. The herbs binding his neck though, lessened the swelling because it could have been so much worse.

Leonardo kept the drapes drawn closed, knowing that Ezio's eyes had been damaged by the pressure of the noose shutting the blood in his head, and it wasn't until that moment, petting a hand over Ezio's head and loosely tying a strip of cloth over his eyes so as not to cause them more strain, that he realized Ezio's hair had been rather roughly shorn off at his shoulders, and he remembered La Volpe saying that his hair had been caught in the knot of the noose and he'd been so desperate to free the young assassin he'd sliced it off with a knife.

Ezio wouldn't be pleased when he woke, but such a thing couldn't be helped. Leonardo much preferred him alive than with all that hair anyway… Besides, it would grow back.

Once the swelling in his throat went down Ezio breathed much easier, and seemed to actually sleep. Aside from wincing when the artist would check the state of his wound he was deathly still.

His fever remained the fourth night and Leonardo lay beside him on the bed the younger man drawn to his chest praying to ease the shivers tearing through his battered body.

Ezio's eyes cracked open a few times, and though he was sure the younger man couldn't hear or understand him through the fever Leonardo spoke to him. He told him many times how brave he was for continuing on in such a state entirely alone, how he wished to have been there, to have offered some form of comfort because no one should have to endure such suffering alone.

And to Leonardo's surprise, Ezio responded.

He shook his head, not in denial, but something else, something he didn't know how to name, and pulled the blonde closer with trembling arms.

He seemed so weary, all the color drained from his face, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes that had nothing to do with the bruises from the attempted hanging, a tilt to his brow that spoke of a desperate need for sleep. He wetted his lips, feeling disgusted by how dry and cracked they felt against his tongue, and let his breath out in a cracked sigh; "You were there… I-I could feel you."

Leonardo pressed a kiss to his brow and stroked a hand over his hair. "What can I do now? How can I help?"

Ezio was quiet for a few seconds, just breathing and relishing in the sensation of those deceptively strong arms around him; "Hold me… I—I just want you to hold me." He swallowed with some difficulty; "Let me forget for a little while."

Leonardo felt suddenly as if he were about to burst into tears and that glowing ember of his physical desire flitted away like a song bird. He settled himself beneath the blankets and drew Ezio closer to him, carding his fingers through dark hair promising to crop it properly once Ezio was strong enough to sit up, and humming the tune to a lullaby he didn't even know he knew.

Ezio was asleep almost immediately and the artist let his hands wander, let his fingers trace the faint stain on his bandages, the thick bruises on his throat and stubble covered jaw. Gently petted the tension from between dark brows and traced with a faint butterfly's wing of pressure over waxy eyelids. He wiped his eyes dry a few times on his sleeve, but couldn't force himself to leave the bed, even though he knew the younger man would sleep more soundly without his poking and prodding and petting. He couldn't force himself to relinquish his hold on Ezio.

_I can't keep him safe… I want to, it kills me that I cannot, but it would be the same as putting a bird in a cage, and I can't do that to him. _

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Ezio slept soundly for three more days. He pried his eyes open long enough—at Leonardo's prompting—to relieve himself, swallow a bit of medicine, allow his bandages to be changed, then nibbled almost fitfully at a bit of bread between swallows of thin soup and a bit of diluted wine. His lips twitched into brief, lifeless smiles when Leonardo spoke, when he tried to lighten the mood by commenting that Ezio's hair looked strange all crimped and knotted like that and the abbreviated length made him appear much too young, but perhaps trimming the sides would make it lay closer to his head and it wouldn't look so silly. Leonardo even smiled halfheartedly and mentioned the cat that had taken up residence in his cellar had stretched out in the sun the other day and looked as flat as a piece of paper. Look, he had a sketch of it as proof!

Ezio didn't seem to be home in his head, it was as if his body was just reacting to his surroundings without specific drive.

Leonardo wondered if this is what it would be like talking to a dead man and having that dead man talk back.

It frightened him a little, realizing that Ezio seemed dead even though he was alive. It was as if his spirit had floated away.

Leonardo wondered if there was a way to capture it again and bring Ezio back to himself… Perhaps a jar like mechanism… Like when he'd gotten that egg into the wine bottle with the matchstick. But, like the egg… how would he get it out again.

Instead he just watched, every night he curled up in the bed and held Ezio close while he slept. It couldn't be restful, he didn't dream, didn't mumble quietly or shift, he was just completely limp and immobile his breath slow and steady on Leonardo's chin.

But Leonardo stayed there with him through all of it, and slowly his condition began to improve.

It started with a grin. A soft, sleepy grin on the eighth morning since his return, Leonardo had woken to find Ezio's eyes open and his pale chapped lips curled upward just a fraction, the assassin's right hand resting against the artist's chest, feeling his heartbeat.

Ezio remained wakeful long enough to meet Leonardo's eyes relief evident in them, then they fluttered closed again until nearly noon, and when they opened this time there was definite life behind them.

Ezio ate two bowls of broth and two pieces of bread, he also managed to stay awake for a full four hours without interruption and his smiles when Leonardo spoke were genuine.

The low fever in his veins faded completely, and though it would take a while for the wound on his side to heal completely there seemed to be no infection, and the bruising on his face and throat was fading quickly into a mottled green and purple instead of the livid black and bloody it had been before.

It was likely he would have a faint scar on his neck but Leonardo thought it was a small price to pay. While helping Ezio bathe on the tenth day he tilted the assassin's chin up and placed a soft kiss on the spot, warming inside when Ezio held him there, hands warm and firm on his back, then with a sigh the younger man pulled him up—his eyes searching and perhaps even a little unsure—and offered a kiss of his own, lips to lips in a slow innocent kind of intimacy that sat Leonardo's mind afire.

Ezio pressed their cheeks together and breathed softly into the curling hair of Leonardo's temple, fingers still tangled desperately in his shirt; "I carried your gift with me… It—It helped…"

Leonardo felt heat rise to his face. He was by no means a shy man—he'd been called a hopeless flirt in his younger days—but the thought, the mere idea that Ezio had used the tool he'd made for him brought fantastic images to mind. "You—you found it satisfactory?"

Ezio's lips were still dry, but no longer so severely chapped and they danced over Leonardo's skin like a prayer; "Yes… very good."

Leo smiled and bowed his face into Ezio's shoulder again, wrapping his arms around his chest.

"Though… I think I might enjoy the Maestro himself more than his little toys."

"You're still healing, Ezio."

He nodded, not offering protest; "You said there was more than one way for men to find pleasure in one another… Perhaps we can explore this?"

Leonardo smiled and his fingers rubbed at Ezio's back, feeling the muscles bunch under his skin. "Yes… that does sound like a good idea."

He helped Ezio finish with his bath, his eyes darkened with need, his fingers lingering on sensitive parts of the younger man's body, and he took a meticulous delight in rubbing Ezio dry with a warm cloth, chafing color into his limbs and chasing away that illness induced pallor.

Each pass over his arms and chest and thighs warmed Ezio inside and out, and it wasn't long before each touch, each caress felt like a brand laid to his skin, and his heart pounded in his ears, that heat pooling lower and lower in his belly, until, laying there on the bed, one hand on Leonardo's shoulder, the artist's hand shifted and paint stained, strong fingers wrapped around him.

His breath hitched and came out on a sigh, lids drooping.

Not a word was spoken, just the soft sounds of Leonardo's hand moving on him, and the hungry growls shared between kisses. Ezio reached for him twice, but the artist's free hand came up and gently guided his wrist back to the pillow by his head, twining their fingers together as the attention of his lips and teeth and tongue shifted from Ezio's mouth to the portion of flesh below his ear, following the thrum of his pulse in his neck and down over his heart, laving and scraping teeth against one nipple then the other and back again, inching lower and lower with each cycle.

Ezio wanted to roll his hips upward insistently wanted to growl and nip at the blonde's lower lip, but he found he much rather enjoyed relaxing and allowing Leonardo to do as he pleased.

Leonardo knew what he was doing, and Ezio trusted him implicitly, even when the artist's stroking hand withdrew and stroked up the inside of his thighs, nudging them apart he felt nothing but trust and calm in his chest.

His head rocked back sharply against the pillows when he felt the older man's tongue tracing a thin dotted trail down his stomach and his hands balled into fists but didn't lift from the pillow. Even when Leonardo's lips found the crown of his sex, and one slick finger slid upward into him, there was nothing but that moment, nothing but that perfect slide of flesh and heat.

Had he been more aware of himself he may have been ashamed at finding his end so quickly, but he couldn't be ashamed when Leonardo looked up at him, cheek pressed to his hip and smiled with such tenderness, such love.

He couldn't be ashamed when at that moment everything felt so—so right.

His hand lifted finally and he stroked his fingertips over the blonde's cheek, his breath slowing back to normal.

_You beautiful man… I love you, did you know? I love you more than the stars in the sky…_ His eyes closed slowly, by fractions every time he blinked, waiting for his breath to slow, and by the time they shut he was too far gone to remain awake, or even aware of his surroundings.

Leonardo bundled the blankets around him and lay there at his side, pulling the assassin close and tucking his head beneath his chin, moisture in his eyes.

"I love you too, Ezio… with everything that I am."

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_Sorry for the wait, life decided to be a bitch… Anywho, there is probably one more, maybe two more parts to this. I apologize for the Ezio wump =3= but the poor guy just kept falling into it. _

_And just in case I didn't clarify it enough, Ezio has no brain-to-mouth filter just after orgasm…_

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	7. Part 7

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**Unfortunate; Part Seven**

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Leonardo had seen mother cats in the city walking around followed mercilessly by their litter. He'd seen plump fuzzy kittens romping and playing and climbing on the unfortunate mother, chewing violently on her ears, or gnawing on her tail. Not to mention their sharp little teeth while they nursed.

Leonardo felt like that haggard cat himself.

Ezio had been shuffling around now for three days, wrapped in a quilt, wearing thick woolen socks and a loose pair of trousers, the bandages across his chest and belly thick to protect his injury from sudden bumps and movement.

Like Leonardo had guessed, Ezio had not been pleased when he realized that damned Fox had cut his hair off. He'd sat before the mirror the morning before with his mouth hanging open staring in shock at the disaster left to him.

He hadn't spoken, but released a few high pitched whimpering noises and fingered the haphazard mess at the back of his head.

Leonardo had helped him wash his hair and carefully snipped until it didn't look so disastrous.

Ezio pouted dramatically all the rest of that day… until he realized how strange it felt to rub his fingers through it and how freeing it was to be able to sleep on it and not have to worry about picking out knots the next morning. Then he'd sat for hours in front of the wash mirror and ran his fingers through it a strange wild eyed grin on his face.

"I'll grow it back, but I suppose this isn't so bad…" He'd said in a low rasp, his voice was beginning to come back thankfully, but it would take time. "For now."

When Ezio wasn't sitting in the sun enjoying the warmth on his skin, sleeping, eating as if he were starving, complaining that eating so much had given him a stomach ache, or playing in his hair like a child after their first cutting, he was swathed in a quilt and shuffling along behind Leonardo, or pressed up close to his side, holding his arm, rubbing his cheek along Leonardo's sleeve like an affectionate feline!

Leonardo remembered those first few days after Ezio's confession, how giddy and blank he'd been, in awe of himself and he turned from his work to stare at Ezio where he'd taken up a chair to his side and leaned his brow onto the back of his shoulder.

"You're horrifically clingy, do you know this?" He turned back to his painting; "Like a wet shirt."

Ezio hummed and nuzzled his arm, "I'm a wet shirt?"

"LIKE a wet shirt… Wet shirts are notoriously uncomfortable… This is nice," He turned and pecked Ezio quickly on the head and turned back to his work.

"Leo?"

"Hmm?"

He pressed warm dry kisses into the artist's sleeve; "I would like to try again, tonight… If you would indulge me."

Leonardo very nearly gave the woman he was painting a moustache. He blinked stupidly for a few heartbeats, carefully sat his brush down before he made an irreparable mistake and turned to look Ezio in the face.

His eyes were warm, alert and very intent, his cheeks flushed—thankfully not by fever— He inhaled slowly and leaned close offering a soft press of his lips, tilting his chin up into it…

How could he refuse?

Leonardo kissed back, catching the younger man by the back of his neck and pulling him into it, putting all his own pent up frustration and need into the dance of lips and tongues. Ezio drew back with a sharp inhale, breath shuddering out again as his body seemed to ripple in anticipation, tongue slashing out over his bottom lip as if to taste.

"Tonight," Leonardo said under his breath. "Now, will you allow me to finish or shall we retire early?"

Ezio hesitated, then nodded; "Finish… I want your full attention," He rose slowly and shuffled toward the stairs going up to the bedroom without a backward glance. Leonardo didn't think he had to look back, the point was clear.

Hurry.

Yes, hurry.

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Ezio was sitting on the bed when Leonardo came up that evening. He'd pulled the drapes and lit a few lamps around the room, in the fireplace a few logs had been reduced to hot red coals.

Ezio was pressing out wrinkles in his shirt when the door opened and he sat there still, as if frozen, caught in the act of pressing creases with his fingertips.

Leonardo felt, for some reason, how he imagined other men felt on their wedding nights. Coming into the bed chamber and seeing their new brides waiting for them, blushing and nervous.

Where another man would have been aroused by that nervousness, Leonardo was not. Nervousness often escalated into fear if it was not eased. The last thing he wanted Ezio to feel was fear. It had already stopped them twice and Leonardo wanted so badly for Ezio's needs and desires to be fulfilled.

He'd meant it when he'd said he would gladly have lain in that bed, fully dressed and held Ezio close. Sex was not a necessity to him as it was to most men. He had urges, yes, but knew how to sate them without aid or use of another. He craved the intimacy of sharing space with Ezio, of holding him and being able to say he loved him without fear of discrimination, or exclusion. He didn't need physicality to express his feelings… Ezio, though, wanted the physical… And if Leonardo was being honest with himself, he would have admitted he wouldn't have minded having that as well, but so long of having to hide his feelings he would have gladly accepted a hug and shared admissions of affection. Sex? Sex was an ultimate expression and the idea that Ezio wanted to share this with him was such an honor, such a privilege Leonardo wanted to weep for it.

And now, here he was, about to make a third attempt. A final attempt, he could tell. This would either work, or he would convince Ezio that it just wasn't meant to be. There was no sense in forcing something like this when the young assassin was obviously afraid of it. He wouldn't allow Ezio to harm himself, physically, mentally or emotionally because of his inability to relax his body enough to accept penetration. There were other ways. MANY many ways two men could find satisfaction in one another and he would gladly, happily show Ezio every single one of them.

Ezio made to stand, but Leonardo held up his splayed fingers and stood there for a moment just looking at him.

Ezio had lost weight in the past weeks. His illness and injuries had taken much from him, but he was very close to well once more.

"Undress… please."

Many men had said those words before, some in command, some in a shout, some with fists and anger. Leonardo said them softly, leaving open the option for refusal and promising no retribution should Ezio say 'no'.

Ezio slowly stood and pulled his shirt from his shoulders, standing there for a heartbeat with his fingers latticed together uncertainly. He took a breath and unlaced his trousers, letting them fall and be worked free of his feet.

Leonardo thought he looked unfairly young standing there in just his skin and bandages. His hair was standing out oddly at his ears, as if trying to curl and Leonardo wanted to brush it back into place and whisper his appreciation into that pale, sometimes bruised skin.

Leonardo took a deep breath and began working his own clothes off, only his trousers remaining, a barrier he thought Ezio may appreciate until he was certain of how far he wished this act to progress.

Ezio's mouth opened to say something, but closed again with a click of teeth and he glanced away into the corner anxiously before with a frown he climbed into the bed and sat still, hunched over his knees.

Leonardo sat on the other side of the bed and worked his boots and stockings off. He lay back with a relaxed sigh and stretched, bones and joints popping, back arched up like a cat. He lay there silently, watching Ezio, his arms folded beneath his head.

Ezio watched him in return.

Minutes passed in silence and Ezio became more and more tense until he seemed to snap like a bow string.

"Are we going to do it or not?"

Leonardo chuckled; "If you'd like, but I don't want to pressure you, you looked uncomfortable."

"Because I am uncomfortable. I want you, Leonardo… very much, but I…" He glanced down at his lap and scowled at the unresponsive flesh.

Leonardo blinked and lifted his head, "Ah," He dropped his head back to the pillow; "You're impotent."

Ezio's head snapped up and his hands curled into fists, mouth opening to screech indignantly.

"It's perfectly alright… You're just nervous… Come, lie down and relax for a while. We don't have to do anything at all."

"But I want to—"

"We can, afterward… Now lie down."

Ezio flopped onto his back despondently and rubbed at his face, grumbling into his palms.

Leonardo rolled onto his side and stroked fingers through the younger man's hair, up each arm and across his chest, tracing the outline of each muscle with two fingers. "Hmm, roll onto your stomach—"

Ezio flinched visibly remembering what had last occurred in that position.

"Your back is tense," Leonardo rocked into a sitting position and waited until Ezio had gingerly eased onto his stomach, a pillow pressed into his injured side.

He'd rubbed Ezio's back before, worked knots from his shoulders with firm fingers, this was no different… not really, and Ezio relaxed by inches until his fingers were limp by his face and his body moved with Leonardo's gentle caresses. He memorized each muscle and bruise and scar from Ezio's nape to the small of his back where the skin looked much more pale having not been touched by the sun.

Leo thought for an instant that the younger man had fallen asleep but Ezio pried one eye open and looked at him, fingers twitching in an indication that he could stop.

Leonardo sat there on his heels for a minute or more, feeling the weight of Ezio's gaze. The younger man's expression was placid, his face inscrutable. "Undress, please."

He shuffled back and peeled his trousers off slowly until he was lying there bare. He could feel Ezio's eyes trailing over him like heated points and he very nearly squirmed because it made him feel oddly ticklish.

Thin long fingers stretched out, tracing the contours of each muscle in Leonardo's face and neck, down his nearest arm and across his chest. Each ridge of ribs and abdominal muscles were mapped and that hand, the right, touched him with such innocent purpose, weighed him against a nervous palm, one—two hesitant strokes and Ezio was shifting again, pillow still held to himself as he rolled onto his back, his own sex finally seeming to show some interest.

"See? You were tense."

Ezio rolled his eyes, lips curling up fractionally and he pushed the pillow aside and drew Leonardo to him, tilting his chin up and offering a slow deep kiss as thanks.

They seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces, everywhere Leonardo curved inward, Ezio reached out. He felt naked in a way he never had before, touched and explored by intent fingers and the tip of the younger man's tongue. Strange, how he was the one with the most experience and Ezio was making him feel so… so virginal. He even let his legs fall open in invitation but Ezio shook his head, face flushed and eyes dilated.

"No… no. I—I want you inside me this time… Please—please—now, right now."

He nodded, hands shaking as he felt that vial pushed into his palms. Ezio must have spent the whole afternoon up here preparing the space. He wondered if the younger man had touched himself. When Ezio brought his hand down between his thighs he realized he had. It wasn't much evidence, but when he grazed his fingertips over the spot he felt the muscles there were much more relaxed than they were normally.

He grinned into Ezio's throat, dribbled some of the rose oil onto his fingertips and pressed up against the core of him.

Ezio flinched and was still, feeling those fingers moving into him, two at once… He'd spent an hour that evening carefully pushing fingers into himself, one, two, three… reminding himself that there was no mystery to it, he'd enjoyed it more than once now, but the fact that it was someone else—the fact it was Leonardo, changed something and his heart pounded frantically against his ribs. He felt choked, hanged again and before he knew what he was doing he was shaking his head quickly, harshly—back and forth back and forth against the pillow and gripping Leonardo's shoulders as if his very life depended on it.

Leonardo withdrew his fingers, but Ezio was still shaking, still tossing his head, eyes squeezed closed in blatant, childish refusal.

"Relax, Ezio… Love, look at me." He tilted his head to meet the younger man's eyes, smiling as softly as he could, knuckles petting carefully against those slender hips and the rippled plane of his stomach. "You are still afraid of this."

He shook his head in denial of his fear. But that knot wouldn't leave his throat and before he knew what was happening all the guilt, all the shame crashed on him like a tumbling wall and he threw an arm up over his eyes and sobbed into his elbow. Why couldn't he do it?

What was stopping him?

He'd pleased himself, that girl at Teodora's had pleased him, but why couldn't he relax for this? Why couldn't he let the man he loved touch him?

"Why are you afraid? Ezio—My love, please… Why are you afraid?"

"It will hurt!"

The words came out very clear, considering the fact Ezio was crying. Clear and full of a surety that what he wanted was going to hurt him. Could make him bleed, and that maybe all the years of practicing this art of murder had changed him, had turned him into someone who was incapable of feeling anything but pain, and that thought terrified him.

"I've felt pain much worse than this, but it—I don't understand why, but it's different!" He took a deep breath and ground his teeth so tightly they popped; "It will HURT."

Leonardo finally saw it then. The grand scope of Ezio's anxieties played out before him in three little words. His heart shuddered painfully in his chest.

The physical aspect of this was only part of the problem, the rest… the rest was emotional and mental and it was simply and purely heartbreaking.

He'd had everything once, had a family he loved who loved him as well. He had two brothers who were more than family, they were friends. He had loving parents who spoke to him, and hugged him and offered their laughter and their rebukes and their joy to him… And it had all been taken away. It had all been stolen, his sense of safety, his family, his innocence. All that he had loved and cherished, gone in one fell swoop. And now, now that he had found that again, even such a small shred compared to what he lost, he was absolutely horrified of losing it. The physical pain was just a catalyst.

"Ezio…" He pressed until the arm shielding those gold eyes from his view was lifted and for a long while Leonardo just stared deeply into them, seeing something small and frightened and wounded hiding back there, exposed for the first time because it trusted him… It trusted him even though it knew this was going to hurt, knew that in the end the loss would return and it would hurt even worse the second time…

"You're afraid it will hurt…" He had to swallow a teary ache in his throat; "You are afraid to let yourself have this because you know—"

He didn't even have to finish speaking, Ezio's eyes widened impossibly and for a long moment he was deathly still, staring up at him in shock. Everything since that night at Teodora's had been about this, everything he'd experienced had solidified the fact to him that one day—maybe one day soon for all he knew—he would lose Leonardo. One day, Ezio may not return home, or perhaps they may grow old together without incident. It didn't matter, because one day Leonardo would be out of his reach, dead or left behind… It hurt, that realization. It hurt and he couldn't accept it, was afraid of it more than anything he had ever encountered. He would gladly face down a Templar blade, or men sent after his blood, but the very idea of losing the person he loved paralyzed him.

Ezio gripped at him suddenly and laid it all bare, because holding the hurt in was more than painful, it was killing him, and he could restrain it no longer.

Leonardo wrapped both arms around him and squeezed. In that moment he didn't care if he bruised or broke the younger man's ribs, Ezio needed the closeness, even if it did hurt. "Ezio… I love you. I love you and I will love you even after I am nothing but dust, do you understand this? I will love you long after that because what I feel cannot be measured or cut apart or killed. Do you hear? No one can take this from you. No one, not time, not God, NO ONE."

He sobbed again, but his head was bobbing frantically. Nodding and pulling at the blonde. Tasting the words on his lips, again and again and again; "I love you I love you I love you."

"There is nothing wrong with this, Ezio. Nothing wrong with loving and wanting to express that love. It is the most powerful thing to ever exist, love. And yet people take it for granted every day. They say it when they don't mean it, collect it like precious gems to cut and cultivate to their own selfish needs, then cast it off when they are no longer in fashion… But we won't do that. We won't… This means more than anything to me and I will cherish it for eternity."

Ezio's hands were hesitant, a little awkward, but where before there was a tension in his body and a reservation in his mind, now there is only surety. Knowledge that it would be OK. That it would be painful at first, but the pain does eventually fade.

There is no reward without that pain and it is worth it. Even if it may not look like it at the time, it is worth it. He knew this better than most and with a deep breath he let himself go, he pushed the thoughts of what the future would hold away and focused instead on what was happening at that moment because, in the end, that was all he had, a series of moments, and he would not take these for granted.

Leonardo offered kisses and gentle passes of his palm, words whispered into his ear while those long fingers eased inward, slicked with rose oil and patient as if they had all the time in the world.

He rubs—_worships_—this hidden, secret part of Ezio's body and trails a pattern of his lips down to it, taking in the assassin's voice as he keens his surprise and unexpected pleasure to the rafters, fingers curled, twined with Leonardo's own, gripping so tightly it's as if he wishes to meld himself body and soul with the older man.

His body moves, rolling with the unfamiliar stimulation, left leg lifting to hook over the blonde's arm while his free hand reaches downward and grips like an eagle's talon at a pale shoulder. He calls out his name, unashamed, like a prayer and sweat is standing out proudly across his chest and face. His cheeks flushed brightly and the wound that is still healing on his side sluggishly weeps with him.

Leonardo welcomes the pain of rigid fingers on his back, welcomes it because the pain and joy and ecstasy of this is more than sex, it is life itself. The rise and fall of it, the feverish pace and NEED. He feels, as if his spirit is close to the face of God, and he lifts himself bodily away from Ezio long enough to catch his breath and let the younger man recover enough of his wits to realize what is about to happen and offer his consent or his rejection of it.

Ezio lay there panting, head tilted back on the pillow, a thin bit of drool caught in the corner of his mouth. He swallows, the motion painful looking as his mouth and throat are very dry from panting. And when his eyes open there is fear in them, but he pulls Leonardo close again anyway.

Leonardo remembers a feeling of trepidation that night, many many years ago when in his drunkenness he'd kissed a young man who had been a very good friend at the time… He remembers feeling so unsure of himself, so awkward as that young man had grinned crookedly and pressed him back onto their Master's workshop floor, had kissed his mouth and peeled away his breeches and stockings and used a crude bit of old cooking oil to lubricate his abrupt entry.

He remembered that it had hurt, and the hurt of it had made him angry and he'd bitten the other boy on the shoulder, leaving an imprint of his teeth… He remembered the shock of having someone inside of him… and the startling realization that the hurt—the hurt felt good, and before they even fully realized what was happening it was over. It had happened so quickly and without consideration. An act soon to be forgotten and shoved aside as merely dull experience he'd garnered in his Master's workshop…

Leonardo recognized that same expression he'd once worn painted across Ezio's face, and he vowed not to let something so special be taken away so quickly, not this time, not ever again.

He settled himself between Ezio's parted thighs, hooking one leg over his arm and using his other hand to rub and pet the younger man's opening.

They had done this before and come so close, he could still remember how remarkably tight Ezio was around him, the memory of that partial penetration weighed heavily on both their minds, and Ezio's brows knitted in thought.

Leonardo didn't ask him to face away this time, he shifted himself lower in the bed, scraping his teeth across Ezio's throat and chest and aligned himself with the other's entrance. Reaching for that bottle on the side table and tipping some into his palm. He stroked the oil over himself slowly, enjoying the friction and used the rest over Ezio's opening and shaft, rocking with the slickness between them for a few minutes before he steeled his breath and shifted his hand downward once more.

Ezio swallowed rapidly past the dryness in his throat and locked his eyes with the ceiling, trying to detach himself for a moment because the fear of the pain would get the better of him otherwise and even though he knew the physical pain wasn't the problem it was a trigger so quickly pulled. It was easier sometimes if you didn't see it coming, just let yourself relax into it and allow it to happen, ignorance, he supposed, really was bliss.

It was still curious, how the head of Leonardo's manhood fit so perfectly against him, his eyes closed, imagining it, relaxing himself like in his dreams.

Leonardo understood and didn't give warning, just waited until Ezio had exhaled, and pushed inward.

His body didn't have time to tense, not until Leonardo was already halfway inside him, so quickly Ezio's breath rushed out and he gripped tightly to the blonde's shoulders, bowing his head into the other's neck and biting back a cry of shock.

There was no slow build of pain this time, just a hot sharp burn, like being stabbed and his legs tightened to either side of the artist's body. Limbs trembling as his teeth began to chatter in distress.

Leonardo held him close, offering wordless apologies with a brush of his lips on jaw, neck and chest. Ezio was painfully tight and as he nudged himself deeper, knowing that the younger man wouldn't let him stop now even if he was in pain, he broke out in a sweat from worry and the intensity of restraining himself, easing off for a few seconds to reduce the discomfort then pressing forward again.

The helplessness, the loss of control was horrifying and instinct bade Ezio to thrash and fight and reject this, but he ground his teeth instead and gripped to Leonardo all the tighter. Here was the control. It was not gone, it was not absent, it was right there. All he had to do was tell the older man to stop and he would. This wasn't submission, wasn't letting the other man dominate him, Leonardo would do whatever he said, would stop, would continue, would hold absolutely still for however long it took. He'd proven that already, and yet Ezio still trembled and warred with himself and his fight or flight nature.

"Ezio… Ezio, open your eyes. Look… See, that's it."

His eyes popped open and for a minute he just stared around frantically, taking in the state of the room. Nothing had collapsed, nothing had burst into flames. Everything was exactly as it had been before except… except he felt stretched, hot—full and…

And Leonardo was braced up on his elbows, fingers gentle and lightly petting at his hair and cheeks, a kind smile on his lips.

Ezio swallowed nervously, and when the artist's fingers caught his wrist he let his hand be guided down between their bodies, his heart pounding erratically as he found the place where they joined, how his body was stretched tightly around the older man's length, but how they fit together so perfectly. So fully.

His breath came out in a high little titter. Almost lost and disbelieving, and his vision swam as if he were about to faint. He lowered his head back to the pillow and lay there for a while with his eyes closed just breathing, fingers still touching where he was filled.

Leonardo was kissing his neck, behind his ear, whispering encouragements; "Take your time… It's alright. When you feel you're ready let me know."

The blonde seemed to just enjoy the moment, the motionlessness of it. The closeness. He hummed and continued drawing patterns with his kisses across Ezio's chest and neck and shoulders. His fingers rubbing at tense muscles and stroking carefully up and down his sides, skirting around his wound but checking it every so often, pressing lightly at the bandages to make sure he wasn't bleeding.

The calm came slowly. Inch by inch his body began to relax, his mind quieting as his fingers explored down there, head lifting, trying to see it but unable. It was a strange compulsion, to see it. To make it real in his mind.

His brow furrowed… Where was that mirror?

"Leo?"

"Hmm?" He lifted his head, his expression faintly dazed and giddy, but aware enough not to act like it.

"Where… where is the mirror?"

The blonde's eyes danced impishly and he slid one hand beneath Ezio's shoulders the other under his hips and rolled with him to the edge of the bed.

The abrupt movement caused the older man's body to shift within him and he gasped at the shock of it, finding himself sitting up with his legs bent and tucked to either side of the artist's body.

The penetration felt so very deep at this angle, the pressure against that lump of responsive tissue inside him was exquisite and for a moment he just sat there with his head tilted back and his mouth open, gasping for air. Hands braced on the other's chest to keep himself upright.

His head rocked forward and he blinked dazedly down at the blonde aware of his own erection, practically throbbing between his legs, and a satisfied smirk on Leonardo's lips.

"Take a look, Ezio."

Ezio didn't know what he'd meant at first, that is until he lifted his head and found himself looking into a mirror affixed to the wall above the headboard. It was a little startling seeing his reflection. His hair was mussed, and his face was flushed, lips parted and gasping and shining with moisture… How his eyes were still underlined darkly from his injury, but how plainly his pleasure was written on his face… What was more though, was the fact that the mirror above the wash stand was behind him, and he could see that reflection as well… Could see his back, a few scattered scars and bruises… Could see himself seated firmly on Leonardo's hips and the artist's hands cupping his behind to hold him upright… Could see those hands lifting him and—

It was a wholly and blissfully erotic sight, how he was able to see himself stretched wide around Leonardo's shaft, see and feel every inch of it slowly drawn out, and pushed back in as he was lowered.

Silver specks danced at the edges of his vision and all the strength bled out of him. His sex gave a hard throb between his legs and Leonardo chuckled at the wetness that eased out to pool on his belly.

"You like that? You like to see yourself?"

Truthfully he barely noticed his reflection, just that point in the other mirror where he could see the blonde moving in and out of him. Seeing and feeling at the same time was overwhelming. It had been the same with women, how sometimes, when they were lost in their passion, he'd liked to rock backward and watch himself moving in and out… This though— His breath escaped in a high little keen— this was ten times as intense and his hands lifted to brace on the headboard, gripping at the decorative carvings as if his very existence depended on it.

"Should I stop?" Leonardo's hands stilled, resting lightly on the younger man's hips instead of controlling the movement.

And Ezio lifted himself, rocking his hips up and back and down, a constant unwavering stream of whines and calls of the artist's mane and God, oh, God! H-holy Mother of God, Leo!

It hurt, there was no way he could convince himself it didn't, but the physical pleasure of it, as well as the mental overload of watching himself ride the older man made the pain insignificant compared to FEELING it. KNOWING that he was having sex— That he was _making love_ with Leonardo, made the pain feel utterly and catastrophically delicious.

Leonardo chuckled, feeling warmth expand in his chest like a rose blooming and he let his hands rest lightly on the younger man's thighs and just watched. Watched the play of pleasure across that face he'd dreamed about for years. Closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of Ezio's lithe young body arching and shifting and riding him as if he'd been born to do it.

"You like watching yourself move on me?"

"Y-yes—_Oh!_ Oh, yes!" His head rocked forward for a moment eyes fluttering, brows lifted in surprise, sweat beginning to drip from his face, running down the length of his torso in shining lines.

Leonardo hummed appreciatively and tilted his chin up, grinning like a fool and just flatly basking in Ezio's satisfaction.

Ezio worked himself until his muscles, still weakened from his illness, could lift and lower him no more and his arms and back and hips and thighs screamed for relief. It felt so very good, but his end was still so very far away.

Leonardo seemed to understand without being told, and with his hands back in place at Ezio's shoulders and waist, rolled them again, bracing himself up with one hand on the headboard and one on the younger man's thigh, he angled his hips toward the assassin's prostate and pushed—

Ezio had released a litany before, while watching himself. A chorus of pleas and calls to God and repetitions of Leonardo's name in four different languages. Now, with such feverish, almost merciless motion of the artist's shaft within him he could do nothing but whimper and clutch with rigid fingers and stare into those blue eyes as if they were his lifeline.

He couldn't understand how he hadn't found relief yet. How—from the intensity of the sensation—he hadn't lost himself like a young boy on his first lay.

The pace was quick and each thrust felt like it went through him, the muscles in his stomach tightening and releasing with each inward push.

The pain of it was still there, startling, sapping his strength. And he knew that before, he would have asked Leonardo to stop, out of fear, but now he pushed on away and enjoyed the fact that despite the tenderness, the ache, the burn of penetration, his orgasm was quickly approaching, and the duel sensations seemed to meld into something more devastating than simple pleasure or pain would ever do alone.

Leonardo's hair was wet and clinging to his forehead, neck and back, and the expression on his face was concentrated, keeping himself at a steady pace, fast but gentle so as not to cause the younger man harm. It was very easy to injure someone doing this, pace and timing and angle were everything. Too much pressure against a man's prostate was painful, too little and the penetration itself was painful. One had to find that balance. Simply pushing in and thrusting away could lead to disaster. A man was not a woman, a man's body wasn't naturally built to accept penetration, one had to be properly prepared and cared for during the act to minimize chance of injury. If all care and attention were properly given and taken, then it could be one of the most pleasurable experiences on the planet.

He worked slowly, carefully, lowered himself to kiss and lick and nibble along Ezio's chest and shoulders. Whispered encouragements to hook his legs across his back, yes, just like that…

Leonardo was a man of science, he knew the limits of the human body and he prided himself in it… He was also a man, something else he prided himself in, and as a man he enjoyed watching his bed partner completely overwhelmed with sensation, mindless and begging for him.

Having Ezio there, whining and clutching at him his eyes glazed, calling out that it felt so good, please, please just a little_ harder_. Well, that… that made Leonardo feel completely lost to the sensation himself, and he wanted nothing more than to make Ezio feel this good every day, make him feel so overwhelmed by pleasure he forgot everything else. And he had. If Leonardo had stopped at that moment and asked the younger man his name and profession Ezio would have scrunched his brow and had to think about it for a long few moments before he would have been able to answer.

This, he supposed, was very much worth the wait.

Ezio's fingers tightened rhythmically on his shoulders, flexing as if scratching or grabbing at something just out of his reach, brows curling downward in concentration, just—just a little…

His nose wrinkled in frustration and he rolled his hips upward insistently, reaching for it.

The hand Leonardo had been clutching Ezio's thigh with scraped forward over his hip and closed tightly around his arousal, pulling quickly—roughly—four times and that was all it took.

Ezio's eyes opened wide and rolled backward up to the whites, his lids fluttering and his body seemed to lock up for half a second, breath caught in his bared throat, and when it came out again it was in a low rumbling groan that rose steadily into a quavering cry of surprise, something uncontrollable and happening completely without his permission or intent.

It started in the small of his back, working inward and into his legs, drawing the muscles of his thighs tight and pulling Leonardo closer—deeper. It seemed to itch, and burn and then everything happened at once, the pulse and pull deep in his body, centralized where he and the artist were joined and the pressure of Leo's stomach against his length and his fingers rubbing and squeezing every drop out of him.

He may have cursed, he may have screamed, he wasn't sure, all he was aware of was that he was coming apart at the seams and nothing had ever felt so good. His eyes refocused slowly, his pleasure still cresting like ripples in a pool, slowly fading away into warmth and lethargy… and he became aware of Leo hovering over him, one arm still braced on the headboard, sweat on his brow, his long thin beautifully pale body moving with such purpose. The scrunch of his nose and the singular intent in his eyes as they fluttered and the knot of tension he carried between his brows released.

He pushed in deep and held, his muscles quivering and his head bowed with a choked noise almost like a sob, free hand flattened on Ezio's chest, over his heartbeat, an anchor, assuring himself that it was real. For some reason that contact made Ezio's eyes burn and he felt a strange, alien urge to weep but swallowed it back.

Little lightning bright aftershocks jolted through his core, and they lie there against one another panting, bodies shaking in the aftermath and Ezio lifted his hands, grasping Leonardo by each side of his head and drawing him down to rest bonelessly against his chest.

Leonardo opened his mouth twice to say something but Ezio shushed him with a soft hum and trembling, half numb fingers over his sweat damp hair.

Ezio found himself standing in front of the wash basin the next morning, Leonardo still soundly asleep in the bed behind him, carefully prodding pink spots left by the artist's teeth across his shoulders. Remembering the sting of each one.

He had expected himself to look different afterward, had expected something to be different. Something changed in his eyes or his smile, or even something altered in his very chemistry.

Instead there was nothing. Nothing but warmth in his chest and an all-encompassing sense of belonging when his eyes strayed to the sleeping blonde in the mirror, a sense of right.

He carefully made his way back to the bed. The ache in his inner muscles and lower back was less than pleasant, but he would gladly do it again and again and again.

Leonardo stirred as Ezio shifted beneath the blankets again and draped one pale arm over the assassin's waist, nuzzling into his neck; "Are you well?"

He was quiet for a moment, basking in the pressure of Leonardo's arms around him, relishing in it, transient as the sensation may be, as everything they shared may be, and let his breath out in a contented sigh;

"Yes."

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End file.
